


apathy & ignorance

by jazziisms



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, One Shot Collection, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 28,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4594590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazziisms/pseuds/jazziisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of oneshots surrounding the boy who runs on no filter, and the girl who just wants him to shut up. jeanani. collab with lindsiisms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Third Wheels

**Author's Note:**

> Whaddup? It's Jazzy! And after putting this off for so long, I finally decided to write something! But not alone, however. Together, my friend Lindsay and I decided to band together and do a collection of Jeanani oneshots for you all!
> 
> Feel free to follow us at jazzybizzle and lindsiisms on Tumblr!

When he first met her, he just thought she was creepy. She had no friends and was the queen of antisocial. Not to mention that blank expression on her face that she wore all the time. What, did the girl have no feelings?

But then Armin invited her to sit at their lunch table one day, and for some reason she agreed to it.

Things have changed since then. She barely talked but she did socialize. She had an interesting voice when it wasn't in deadpan. She could be funny, she could tease, and she sure could agitate the living hell out of him. She knew where his buttons were and she knew exactly when and where to push them.

As annoying as that midget was, she was also kinda…cute. She caught him looking at her during class - which he'd always partially lie and say that he was lost in thought and just happened to have looked in her direction - and gave him a mocking look over her shoulder, to which he'd make a sassy one in return. He liked the way her hair fell into her eye and she'd brush it away after it started bothering her. He liked how abnormal her nose was. He liked the way she smirked when she thought no one was looking. He liked her dry humor and sarcasm. He liked the way she pretended not to care about any of them when it was clear that she did. And man did he look forward to those days when she'd sit next to him instead of Armin or Eren when the group of friends went out together. Just an excuse to talk to her. An excuse to bicker with her.

Damn. He had it bad. And it had to be for Annie Leonhart, out of all people.

His "little crush" was kept to himself. He told nobody. But Smartass Arlert eventually connected the dots and of course Yeager just had to butt his big head in everything. His secret crush wasn't so secret anymore.

Annie began meeting up with him in the mornings to grab coffee before school. It started as a coincidental run-in with each other one morning, and it eventually became routine. Even if she was as broke as they come, Jean would pay for her. He got her number at some point.

They walked into school together, side by side, almost-empty cups in their hands. Eren and Connie immediately jumped conclusions and went straight to the teasing as soon as she was out of earshot. Armin and Marco didn't say anything, but their curious eyes spoke volumes.

Jean told the two jokesters where they could stuff it, but Armin saw the faint blush on his cheeks as he opened his locker and stayed mum.

"What are you smiling about, Armin?" Eren asked.

Armin's gaze met Jean's for the briefest of seconds before he broke out into an innocent smile. "It's nothing. Hey, isn't that Mikasa over there?"

Both Jean and Armin watched smugly as Eren looked over his shoulder, not-so-subtly running a hand through his hair.

Eren whipped his head around when he realized that he had been set up, not amused. "Ha ha."

.

"Gross," she commented, lifting the straw to her mouth. Jean followed her gaze to see what was going on in front of them (frankly because he wasn't paying much attention), and he felt his heart twist uncomfortably. Armin and Krista were holding hands, fingers laced together as they walked in the sand. Eren and Mikasa sat by the water, waves rushing forward to swallow their feet; she had her head rested on his shoulder, and he leaned his head against hers. From the looks of it, they were holding hands too. Great. Just fan-fucking-tastic.

"I don't even know why I'm here," Jean went back to his sketch of the ocean. They sat together on top of his car, a mutual silence carrying on between them up until Annie had spoken. He was honestly relieved that she decided to sit with him in the first place.

"Because I was not going to be forced to come here without you here to suffer with me."

Jean snickered. "Fair enough."

He felt her lean over after a while. "What are you drawing now?"

"Just a sketch," he muttered, shading in the shadows with his pencil.

Silence.

And then her hand came in his view, cupping over his sketch hand, which came to an abrupt standstill. He lifted his face to look at her, a snap ready to leave his lips only to swallow it back down. Their faces were close. Too close.

"I'm bored." She closed his sketchbook shut, taking his pencil with it. He didn't look to see where his beloved supplies went. "Entertain me."

He had nothing to say. On one hand,  _who the fuck does she think she is, taking his shit like that?_  But on the other _...shit_. He might as well start counting her eyelashes.

"Well, I  _could've_  drawn you but  _noo_ ," he told her sarcastically with a huff, hands on either side of his legs. Like he'd admit that drawing her was ten times as better as drawing the stupid ocean and the stupid sunset with Eren and Mikasa being all lovey dovey and in the fucking way.

"Too bad," she gave him that mocking look of hers and he rolled his eyes and managed to finally look away. _Look anywhere, anywhere but her. Or Armin. Or Eren. Or - fuck, I'm looking_.

Slender fingers slipped into his warm grasp, fitting oh so smoothly through the gaps between his, and it took him a moment before he realized that Annie was now holding his hand. What the hell was she -? Did she not just say that this whole romantic thing was gross?

He will never understand women, and he sure as hell will never understand someone like Annie Leonhart. But he trained his eyes on the ocean and tried not to think about how right her hand felt in his, or how her touch made his heart race, or how he subconsciously gave her hand a squeeze and balanced their entwined hands on his knee.

"Still gross?" he checked to make sure, resting his cheek in his palm and using his alternate leg for balance, hiding his blush yet again.

"Fucking disgusting," she agreed, taking another sip of her blue slurpee.

And if he turned around to look at her right then, he would have seen her blush too.

  



	2. Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in canon, pre-Female Titan arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mind has been buzzing with ideas for the past few days, and I didn't know where to start with them XP I think I love Jeanani just a little too much. Anyway, I decided to play around with Jean's jealousy, and how Annie notices it. There might be one when the situation is the other way around, but we'll see ;)

Getting Jean jealous was so easy.

Annie had learned that ever since the beginning.

His little crush on Ackerman was almost enough to make her vomit, but she had a dark joy out of watching him and Eren butt heads every time one opens their mouth around the other. To make things better, it was clear that the raven had her eyes for someone else - and that someone else was as stupid as they come. Strong, yes. A good opponent, yes.

But knowing about how deep the girl's feelings obviously ran? No way in hell.

Mikasa was Annie's rival, like how Eren's relationship was with Jean. While those hotheads argued over every little thing, Annie and Mikasa were more subtle with their rivalry. Cold, challenging looks would be exchanged between the two. Their spars drew in crowds, Jean and Eren among them. Mikasa was a kick ass fighter. Even Annie couldn't deny that. But she still liked to mess with her. There were more than a handful of times when Annie would walk up to the three who were always together (Eren, Mikasa, and Armin) and openly ask Eren if he wanted to train with her. In front of Mikasa.

She also knocked Eren down time and time again.

In front of Mikasa.

Maybe even pinned him down to the ground while she was at it.

...In front of Mikasa.

Ha. It was no wonder the girl hated her.

However, Annie knew who to go to when she wanted a  _real_  challenge.

As for Jean? It wasn't until they, and Armin, were grouped off together more that she noticed that his apparent jealousy had drifted elsewhere. And it was...odd. She felt his eyes burning in the back of her head as Armin read to her and she listened in mild fascination, or whenever Armin smiled at her and she  _almost_  smiled back, or whenever Armin displayed some type of affection for her. As weak as the other blonde was, he was always  _so damn sincere_. Annie might've even gotten so far as to say that she liked him. Considered him a friend. He sat next to her at dinner, talked to her when no one else did, gave her flowers that he would find and state that they remind him of her, and even offered to spar with her - despite the bruises she always left on him after beating his ass. And when he first saw her smile, he said that it was pretty.

Jean obviously didn't like this at all. He was more grumpier than usual, snapping unusually at Armin, who was his friend, much to the blonde's confusion. Annie became more perceptive, watching Jean's body language as she interacted with Armin, and how it changed as they grew closer in proximity. That particular day was the first time that Armin hugged her (whatever reason that prompt him to touch her, let alone  _embrace_  her), his back to Jean as he did it.

Annie, standing absolutely still in Armin's warm embrace, let her eyes flicker up to Jean's face. His jaw was taut, gaze narrowed, and hands loosely balled up into fists. Where the hell did  _this_ come from? That look on his face was the same look he gave when he saw Mikasa and Eren together. What changed? _When_  did this change? What kind of joke was he playing?

Their eyes met, and he huffed and looked away stubbornly.

She kept staring.

.

"We're just friends, you know."

Jean snorted at her statement, turning around to look up at her. She stood at the top of the hill, looking down at him with that blank, icy gaze of hers.

"You're telling me that like I'm supposed to care."

"News flash, Captain Obvious. You do." Annie kept her gaze steady on his, slowly making her way down. Shoulders squared. Chin tilted up firmly. He was such a bad liar, it was pathetic.

Jean folded his arms across his chest, looking down at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean." She mirrored him, stare unyielding. She didn't care that he was taller than her. Hell, everyone was - with the exception of that Krista girl. "I don't know what kind of joke you're playing, but I'm not laughing."

"You never laugh."

She glared. Is he serious -

He gulped and retreated a step. Smart.

"And to think you only had eyes for Ackerman."

"W-What? What the hell are you talking abo-?! What do you mean ' _only_ '?"

"Don't play stupid with me. You snap at Armin for no reason when he's done nothing wrong. You're being an ass to him. More than usual."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course  _you_  would defend him. You like him, don't you?"

"No more than Yeager."

His mouth dropped in disbelief, and she smirked. She shared different relationships with the two boys, how she somehow got into relationships with  _anyone_  was still baffling to her (because she wasn't  _supposed_  to, and it was only going to get  _worse_ ), but they were somehow drawn to her - just like she was drawn to them. But she would never admit it. Ever. She almost wished that life was that easy. That she didn't have to wake up every day, a walking lie among the cadets who were fighting  _for_  humanity.

And Jean was one of them. Did she think that he was foolish for wanting to be with the MP's for the rest of his life, after graduation? No. She didn't blame him. Just like her, he was trying to save his own hide.

But maybe she didn't know him well enough to know what his true motives were. Maybe a part of her did long for what other's have; a life she could  _never_  have. But that required building  _more_ relationships, and _more_  lies, and  _more_  chaos and destruction when everything came crashing down. Because she knew it will.  _She_  will be one of the main causes.  _She's_  a threat to humanity.

"...and you're not even listening to me! You know what? Fuck off, Lionhart."

She didn't realize that he had been talking, and the blonde found herself staring at his back as he walked away from her. And that's when she felt a strange pressure on her chest, like someone was slowly squeezing her heart until no more blood circulated through.

It was weird. And it bothered her. Which frightened her further.

Because nothing bothered her.

Or at least, that's how it was  _supposed_  to be.

.

He ignored her.

It was blatantly obvious in the way he started being nicer to Armin and pretended like she wasn't there. He was being childish and annoying, yet the one emotion she was feeling was a sense of longing for his attention, and she  _hated_  herself for it. God, what was happening to her?

She decided enough was enough, and cornered him in the library a week later. She knew exactly how to catch him off-guard and did just that. He had been walking down the aisle with his head in a book when her arm snaked out of nowhere and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him to the side. Jean made a startled noise, stiffening up as her other hand balled into his collar and she slammed him into the bookshelf, his feet dangling off the floor as she held him up effortlessly.

It took him a minute to realize who was holding him (hostage), and when he did his eyes narrowed. But she could tell he was a little scared. Good.

"What the hell is  _wrong_  with you?" he hissed.

"Funny," she deadpanned, "I was wondering the same thing about you."

"You caring about someone other than yourself? I'll believe that bullshit when I see it."

And she didn't know why she did it, she sure as hell didn't know what motivated her  _to_  do it, let alone  _want_  to do it all of a sudden, but she set him back on the ground and ducked her head, lips smashing against his. He smelled like pine and  _nature_ , and she was attracted to it.

He froze, a surprised sound rumbling in his chest, but he was now kissing her back, hands sliding down her body and resting on her hips. He was pretty decent when he wasn't  _talking_ , she'll admit. Her arms reached up to twine around his neck, fingers running through his hair, and he bent slightly so she wouldn't have to strain herself.

"You were jealous. Tell the truth." She broke the kiss to speak, teasingly straying away from his lips as he tried to capture hers again, his fingers digging into the small of her back. The sudden power she felt she had over him amused her to no end. She had him right where she wanted him.

He nodded. "I-I was jealous..." he panted, cheeks pink.

" _And?_ " She avoided his lips once more, as much as she wanted to give in to his desire and kiss him senseless.

"I was an ass."

" _And?_ "

"... _And?_ "

"What about Ackerman?" Her lidded gaze did not change, with the exception of the slow rising of her eyebrow.

"What...what...w-what about her?"

He had another thing coming if he thought he could play the two of them for their affection. He didn't seem like the kind of person to do that (he was an idiot, so she had nothing to be concerned about), but for all she knew, he could've had feelings for the both of them. She wanted to snort; he had more of a chance with her than with  _Miss Perfect_.

Wordlessly, she snaked her fingers back into his hair and pulled him down for another kiss, which was returned wholeheartedly, arms slipping around her completely and holding her flush against him.

She can fret over Ackerman later.


	3. Hey there, Hotshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in modern au, written by Lindsay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was written by Lindsay for my birthday :3 I love it so much and she gave me permission to share with you all. How's about that for an early update? :D

"You have somewhere to be?"

Her voice is nearly bereft of any tone or emotion, so stoic, so cold, so unyielding, yet spoken considerably loud so that he is able to hear her over the sound of the bass. The music nearly drowns the two of them out, and he opens his mouth once or twice—she looks to him expectantly, awaiting an answer—but he finds himself flustered, unable to respond to the girl.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize—"

She simply waves her hand in response, the other wrapped around a martini glass, long red fingernails drumming, perhaps out of impatience, on the wooden finish of the bar. She's short, standing at a meager height of only five feet, blonde tresses pulled into a messy bun at the back of her head. Features are sharp, expectant, alert, painted sloppily with dark eyeliner and smudged mascara, a crimson color present on her thin lips. She's pretty—a different type of pretty, he can't explain it—but he doesn't know her name. Never seen her. He had been positive he's seen everyone out and about in the city, but he hasn't seen her. Not until tonight.

"It's okay. No one does, really."

She gives a shrug of her shoulders, carelessness. Apathy graces her features once more, and she lifts the glass to her lips, allowing the cobalt liquid to spill onto her tongue, it's strong, very strong. She makes a face as it goes down, setting down the glass and turning to face him once more. She's different from the other women at the bar tonight; no dress adorns her slim frame, only a white zip-up sweater that hangs over her slender figure, swallowing it, almost, and black distressed skinny jeans that are accompanied by only a pair of old, worn heels. She leans forward, forearms folded across the bar, tilting her head to the left to look at him. She's looking at him. He doesn't even know her name.

"So. What's a hotshot like you doing at a place like this? Place is a shithole, really."

He turns, blinks at her. She's…. smirking. It's subtle, but one corner of her thin lips is raised, undeniable. She's messing with him, she's teasing him. And he's unable to look her in the eyes as he attempts to answer, a blush crawling across his cheeks as he stammers, one hand brushing the back of his neck, nervous laughter slipping instinctively from his thin lips. She cannot see the color in his face due to the lighting of the dive bar, but he can feel his face burning, thrown off guard by her words. He's never one to react this way. Typically he's the one to fluster the women, not the other way around.

"I don't know. Needed a drink, I guess. But I never caught your name—"

"Annie," she interrupts, as if she had predicted what he was going to ask. Another smirk dances across her lips. One small, delicate hand, pale and almost skeletal, graces his arm. He can feel her nails as her grip tightens around his arm, although it is not a gesture that is entirely threatening. She's terrifying, but he isn't scared of her. Not now, anyway. His heart beats faster as she draws closer, her breath reeking of alcohol and tobacco, cigarette dangling from her teeth, but he doesn't mind. A glance in her direction and he's staring right into her icy blue eyes, and she's still smirking, her crimson lips pressed dangerously close to his ear.

"Annie…" he murmurs, lips curling into a smile as he echoes her name, so pretty, so fitting. But she— she's not the typical girl he'd be after. Her effete, slender frame and grungy clothes that hang limply over her body aren't pretty, her pale skeletal fingers and spindly nails are not normal, no, she's different. She's—- she's Annie. Just another girl at the bar.

But now her cold, clammy hands are sliding down his shoulder and to his chest, those sharp, crimson nails digging into his skin, threatening him, drawing him closer, enticing him, yes. She's chuckling softly, and the open sweatshirt slides off of her slender shoulders, the straps of her tank-top exposed and revealing the ample assets that were previously hidden underneath the heavy sweatshirt that originally donned her body. He wants her, he's attracted to her enigmatic and elusive nature, she's attractive, yet unpredictable. The two of them are in blatant sight, in the middle of a throng of strangers in a bar where only minutes ago they had only just spoken. Annie is bold, Annie is striking. But he hesitates as she reaches for the buttons on his shirt, his larger hand finding hers and enclosing it within his palm; she doesn't wish to stop, but he cannot let her continue. She's slightly intoxicated, and he will not take advantage of her. A squeeze of her hand is all that is given before he peels it away from his chest, and she's left staring at him, tearing her hand away from his with and combing back the bangs that have fallen into her face.

"And you?" She asks him. Terse, laconic. Seemingly unfazed by his previous gesture.

He originally is unsure of what she means.

But then he realizes he never told her his name.

"Jean." He stammers. Pull it together, don't act so flustered. She's just a girl, Jean.

She tears a piece of cardboard from the box of cigarettes that hangs in her pockets, grabbing a nearby pen, she scrawls something on it. She's writing quickly, features still painted with apathy. A perfect facade constructed so effortlessly. No longer is she laughing flirtatiously, she's all business, just as she had been when he first had spoken to her. Slender digits hand the piece of cardboard to him and she takes another drag from her cigarette, the other hand adjusting the updo her hair sits lifelessly in.

"Jean. I've got shit to do. But maybe you can give me a call, if you're so interested. If you're gonna be a pussy, don't bother."

She turns heel and leaves, just like that. In an instant she is gone, but he can still smell the tobacco reeking from her jacket. He wishes he could have spoken to her more. He doesn't know a thing about her nor her identity. He wonders how he should call her; coffee? She doesn't seem like the type of girl for that. Hookup? He doesn't know, he's confused, and he takes a seat at the bar, both hands rising to his face, but one eye manages to steal a cursory glance at the cardboard piece she had left him from the cracks within her fingers.

Annie Leonhardt, it reads.

He lifts the shot glass to his lips, forcing the liquid down although she is long gone. It's bitter, it's strong. Just like she had been. Intoxicated and fatigued, he enters her number on his phone, texts her. Waits for a response, there is none, it's hopeless, she led him on. Or perhaps he never should have rejected her when she wanted something from him. Or was she only trying to seduce him?

Hours pass before he gets a cab and heads home, one in the morning, a hopeless situation. Awake in bed he mulls over his options; get over her and forget about it. She was just a girl at the bar, nothing more, nothing less. Fingers hover above her contact name, a blank contact, no picture to identify her with, and for a brief, ephemeral moment he threatens to delete it. Forget it, Jean. But then he gets a text.

Annie.

_"Yeah, meet me tomorrow. I don't care where."_


	4. Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in canon, pre-Female Titan arc. Written by Lindsay.

"No one is meant to live forever," she says.

He hasn't even noticed her presence until now. She stands behind him silently—-for how long, he isn't sure. She's robotic, almost, for not one bit of emotion crosses her sharp features, for slender arms folded over her bosom display  _carelessness_  as opposed to grief and mourning. He isn't sure why she even bothered to come; her attempt at 'assuaging' him is nothing but a bitter restatement of the truth he is too ignorant to admit to; cold, hard facts bereft of any sympathy. He doesn't want her facts. Doesn't want her help. Doesn't want to hear the painfully truthful words leave the lips of the girl he considered a sociopath.

Does she not have any sympathy? Any regret, nothing?

Of course she doesn't, he figures. He turns around from his seated position to look at her— even for one brief second in hopes of finding a weakness within her stoic composure— but there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. Deadpan, vapid, lifeless. The way she's always been.

"It doesn't matter. He's gone—he's gone forever. I could've saved him, Annie. You're not helping. Just go away, I don't want your fucking help."

He's not facing her, but he can feel her eyes. Icy blue irises are glued to his back, burning him, almost as if he can feel her irritation. The breaths in her chest fall heavier, followed by a brisk sigh of exasperation, and she shifts her weight, one hand moving to the choppy bangs that blanket her face.

"Don't be so goddamn stupid. Death is inevitable."

The words leave her lips in the form of a lethal, feral growl, the first display of emotion he's ever witnessed her display in the entirety he has known her. It is subtle, but evident in her body language is unmistakable and undeniable  **irritation**. He almost fears that she is going to slap him for a brief second. Hands lift to his face and he covers his features with his fingers, unable to face her, unable to look her in the eyes and see the vexation within her fiery countenance. He nearly feels ashamed to hear Annie Leonhardt, of all cadets, of all of the girls, say those words. Careless, stoic Annie, who cares little for the affairs of others, has, strangely, just DEFENDED him. She has defended him, albeit in her own unique way, but it was a defense nonetheless and he cannot protest. He cannot argue with her. She's right. But he refuses to believe her, refuses to listen, plagued by his own ignorance and opting to argue with her in the midst of his own mourning, his own grief that she is unable to sympathize with.

"Shut the fuck up, you apathetic _bitch_. Don't act like you can understand."

A sharp kick is delivered to his side, and he falls over promptly, a cry escaping his lips as he hits the ground. She does not spare him in her silent punishment. She's done talking and she's made that perfectly clear, for the scowl on her lips as her foot is driven into his groin is enough to speak for its own. Once more she kicks him, with substantial force once again, sparing him not one ounce of mercy. Arms raise from his side in self defense, not bothering to fight her back ( he knows he stands no chance ), blocking her blows as they come, but instead as defense his arms only serve as the poorly constructed barricade that only suffer the brunt of the physical force rather than deflecting it. Finally he surrenders, a shout leaving his throat, a desperate plea for her mercy, but she does not cease until an apology barely makes it past the tip of his tongue.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, fucking stop it, alright?"

"You fucking imbecile. Ignorance won't get you anywhere, nor will it bring Marco back. No one can ever be spared from death. Not myself, nor you, nor anyone in this goddamn camp. Don't act as if it is your fault when the concept is out of your control. Everyone dies."

He falls absolutely silent. She turns away to walk in the other direction, shoulders no longer tense, features of anger returning to ones of apathy. Haunting how she is able to do so so effortlessly. He is dumbfounded, unable to respond. She has crushed his argument in more ways than one, and just like that she is gone.

"Annie! Wait."

She does not turn around. She continues walking as if she hasn't heard him.

"Annie!"

A response is given in the form of the turn of her head. Her back is still turned to him, arms folded over her chest with disinterest. She's not impressed, likely irritated. He feels almost guilty for the words he has called her. She defended him, and he pushed her away.

"What," she responds, tone eerily deadpan, laced with annoyance, the corners of her lips pulled downward into what seems to resemble a frown of some sort, perhaps a scowl. Or perhaps it is hurt, an emotion he had previously believed to be nonexistent in Annie Leonhardt.

"I didn't—-I didn't mean…."

"Shut up. Of course you did. You're upset."

A flaw of human nature, she knows. Emotion renders humanity weak and vulnerable. Anything considered as such must be barred and pushed away, duty placed before desire. Emotions are a man's downfall. Love ( if it even exists ), sadness, grief, sympathy—all of it is so useless and unnecessary to Annie Leonhardt, a fatal flaw present in nearly all human beings. She has been trained to deflect anything considered as emotional burden. The consequences of it can be seen in nearly every human fighting against the Titans. Fear renders them useless, incapable of fighting.

"Annie, no, stop this."

"I'm not talking about this anymore. It's a waste of my time."

He reaches out and grabs her arm, and for a second she almost pulls away out of instinct. But she doesn't. She hesitates, slender digits enclosing around his, attempting to peel them off of her bicep, but his grip is strong, it is a grip of steel. She is left with her hand on top of his, pale blue eyes wide, fearful, almost, as if she isn't sure what to expect.

"I don't want to push you away too. Annie, please stay," he admits.

"I was never here for you in the first place," she retorts.

"You defended me, Annie. Please don't deny it."

And so she sighs, allowing her fingers to fall from his, combing aside the bangs that have fallen back into her eyes, almost what appears to be defeat Her head turns, eyes scavenge the area for others around the two of them, and upon realizing their seclusion from the rest of the cadets she grips his shirt between her fingers and pulls his head almost dangerously close to her own.

"Just call me an  _'apathetic bitch'_  again. I  **dare**  you."

He swallows, the breaths in his chest left hitched in his throat. She smells sweet, faintly of flowers, which is strange considering her bitter nature and personality. He fears to even breathe in fear of her next move.

"I didn't—-"

She smashes her lips against his, shoving his taller frame against the wall of a nearby building, her brash actions engendered by the power of her own lustful desires, desires she had tried so hard to bar from her thoughts and actions. But carnal desire cannot be restrained, and she pulls on his lower lip with her teeth, drawing blood before pulling away, running her tongue along a row of straight white teeth. He is left merely confused, astounded, unable to respond properly. He cannot even speak.

"I can't bring Marco back. I can't bring Mina back. I can't bring any of these poor assholes back. But I don't blame myself for the loss. You shouldn't either."

And with that she turns to leave, and this time he lets her. He cannot deny the truth of her words, nor can he entirely process what has just exactly happened.

Annie Leonhardt is right. And she just kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are currently being transferred from fanfiction.net.


	5. 4/7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in modern, high school au.

"Are you sure you don't want to do anything for your birthday?" Annie expressed the faintest of interest, lifting a brow as she looked up at him. She wasn't a fan of celebrating, let alone birthdays, but it couldn't hurt to ask, she supposed.

Jean snorted, absentmindedly stroking the back of her shoulder blade with his thumb. They lay together on his bed, upper bodies angled upright in a sitting position, she on top of him, legs sandwiched between his. He had both arms around her, one around her shoulders, and the other across her stomach and waist; she lay on her side against him, head nestled against his chest. "My mom always goes all out anyway. Birthday cake, decorations, tries to call up the entire family. It's annoying." He rolled his eyes, looking down at her.

"You're eighteen. You can do whatever the hell you want."

"Like that would stop her."

"You didn't answer my question."

Jean arched an eyebrow, smirking now. "Says the girl who made me ditch school with her before lunch."

"School food is shit anyway." She jabbed his chest lightly, and he caught her fingers, lacing them together with his. "And you didn't take a lot of convincing."

"Hm. You're a bad influence on me." He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers briefly. "The problem is, she's gonna wanna know why I'm home so early...and how long we've been _unsupervised_."

"Let me tell her then." She kissed him back, lips curved up. "She likes me, so she must be on some other shit."

"You know my mom's never touched drugs a day in her life." He let his fingers brush her bangs back behind her ear, leaning in to press his lips against her forehead. "And we've got..." he reached down in his pocket and pulled out his phone, turning it on to check what time it was, "two more hours before she gets here. No doubt with party stuff and...crap."

"You still didn't answer my question." She snaked her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down, making him meet her icy gaze. "What do  _you_   _want_?"

_"I want_  you all to myself. Mission accomplished." Jean wagged his eyebrows at her suggestively.

"That's not what I meant." Annie rolled her eyes, but he saw the faintest of blushes stain her pale cheeks and grinned.

"...Okay  _fine_. How about you, me, Marco, Mina...and everybody? Just hang out here?"

"Why are you sounding like you're asking me for permission?"

"Touche,  _Blondie_." And just like that, he flipped their positions, hovering over her small body as he straddled her waist with his thighs. He searched for any signs of hostility, repulsion, or any other negative response, and found none. Only the darkening of her blush and light panting from the sudden momentum gave her away. 'S funny, considering the fact that this girl took a kickboxing class and can beat his ass whenever she felt like it.

"Shouldn't you be doing something?" she deadpanned, but her hands were already lifting towards his face as he leaned down.

"Yeah," he shrugged a shoulder, fingers grasping her hips and pushing her further up the pillows, "but I'd rather be doing some _one_  instead."

.

Marco, Mina, Sasha, and Connie arrived at the house first; then Eren, Mikasa, and Armin (like  _that's_  new); and lastly were Christa, Ymir, Reiner, and Bertolt. Jean received video games from the majority of the males present, a fantasy book from Armin, and from Eren? A pie to the face.

Of course Annie and Mikasa had to separate their boyfriends from killing each other.

From the girls, Jean had gotten various clothing (and some cologne from Mikasa, which smelled really good actually. He had to give the girl props.) Reiner brought in the birthday cake, giving Jean a clap on the back so hard that the blonde giant almost sent his friend's head pummeling face-first into the icing. The cake was good, and the atmosphere was pretty light for the most part.

...Until Jean, Eren, and Connie decided to get competitive over the video game they were currently playing - with Armin and Marco pitching in every now and again for cheers and pointers, Reiner making fun of all three of them, and Bertolt sitting quietly on the floor.

Annie sighed, making her way into the kitchen where the girls were. Too much testosterone in one room.

"Thanks for coming," she said with a sigh, looking around at the mess that Mikasa and Christa were already cleaning up. Good. She wasn't cleaning up after  _anybody_. Sasha sat on the countertop, her hand buried in a bag of potato chips (... _typical_ , Potato Girl), and Ymir sat at the table with her cheek in her palm. Well, at least Annie wasn't the only one who was bored.

"Of course," Mina smiled and gave her friend's shoulder a squeeze. "What time is his mom supposed to be home?"

"Any minute now, I guess."

"Hello, hello, hello!"

Annie turned on the heels of her feet. "And that would be her."

Ms. Kirstein closed the front door behind her, surprised to see all of these young people present. Jean had already made plans?  _And_  he had cake? Really? Oh, he was growing up too fast!

"Hey, Ms. Kirstein," the boys chorused, game paused.

"Hi, Ms. Kirstein!" Mina and Christa called back.

"Hello," Ms. Kirstein smiled warmly. "Jean, you didn't tell me you were having company over today." She gave a pointed look at her son, who shifted uncomfortably between Eren and Connie.

"It was my idea," Annie lied - _somewhat_  - as she walked up to the other woman, hands in her hoodie pocket. After all, it was her idea to do whatever he wanted. Damn, he was _such_  a mama's boy. "I'll take the blame, or whatever."

"Oh! You didn't think that you were going to get in trouble, did you, Annie dear?" The woman grasped Annie's shoulders, the latter remaining stoic; the former was used to her behavior. "While I _am_  a little disappointed that this afternoon isn't going as planned, I'm glad that my son is happy and has such good people to surround himself with."

Annie arched an eyebrow for the umpteenth time that day.

"Thank you, Ms. Kirstein." Marco smiled.

"Yeah, we're not that good." Eren shook his head, lips pressed together; but his green eyes never lost the playful glint in it, and the room was then filled with loud, carefree laughter from the thirteen teenagers.

.

_[] Did you have have fun?_

Jean rolled over in his bed, squinting at the bright light illuminating from his phone screen. Damn, he had to remind himself to turn the brightness down at night. It was a text from Annie.

His lips pulled up into a grin, holding his arms up so he could reply to her.

**Yeah []**

**did you? []**

He got her reply ten seconds later.

_[] I don't have fun._

Jean snorted.

**Riiight. Forgot about your whole 'conceal don't feel' thing. []**

_[] Stfu_

**Haha jk babe []**

_[] I know_

_[] you're an idiot_

**Yeah but if I'm an idiot what does that say about you? []**

_[] That I clearly need to take myself to the nearest mental institution_

**Mm, bet you'd look cute in a straitjacket ;) []**

_[] Bet I'd look fucking adorable stabbing someone in the neck with a needle_

**Touche []**

**...Still hot []**

_[] Unbelievable_

_..._

_[] Jean_

_[] you still up?_

**I am now. What's up? []**

**You were gone for a second there []**

_[] Is your window unlocked_

**What? []**

_[] Jean I'm serious_

**Annie? []**

_[] ugh_

_[] I got into it with my dad again and he's bitching about how he doesn't like me actually having friends and all this other bullshit. I didn't want to hear any more of his bs and I told him to fuck off and locked my door. I didn't feel like staying in that shithole so I snuck out._

**Oh my god []**

**Are you okay? []**

**Where are you right now? []**

_[] On your street. Two houses down from yours._

**Okay. []**

**Hang on, I'm gonna unlock the door. []**

_[] K_

Never had he been more wide awake in his life. He didn't care if it was a school night. Swinging his legs over to get out, pushing the covers aside, Jean made a quick stride downstairs and up to the front door. He knew that she didn't have the best relationship with her dad, especially with her mom gone and the fact that he taught her to  _"never trust anyone"_. That was why she had been so alone and isolated when he met her. Not to mention bitter.

Jean unlocked the door and opened it, not caring in the least if his mom was roused from her sleep. Well...okay, he might apologize for that later.

Annie walked wordlessly into the house, and he shut the door behind him, locking the door securely before turning around to face her. The blonde's expression was back to its unreadable mask, and he searched her eyes for any signs of pain or anger in her icy depths. She hid both emotions well.

Yet he's learned how to read her like an open book.

"C'mere," he whispered, arms outstretching, and she didn't hesitate to walk into them, face buried into his chest and inhaling deeply. He rubbed her back and bent, brushing his lips against her scalp, and whispered what he hoped to be soothing words of comfort in her ear. If his birthday was going to end this way, then so be it. He was okay with that. Because she was safe. Here. With _him_.

She withdrew from the embrace, hands gripping onto his shirt, eyes downcast. Man, what wouldn't he give to be a mind reader right now. He rubbed her arms, leaning in once more to kiss her forehead.

"Why don't you stay with me tonight?" he suggested in a rare, tender tone.

Annie finally met Jean's gaze, her emotionless mask slowly cracking on the surface, and nodded slowly.

 


	6. Glass Coffin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in canon, post-Female Titan arc. Written by Lindsay.

Her coffin is made of glass.

Flaccid limbs fall dully by her sides, lifeless, limp, cold, and dead. If he had flowers he would have placed them in her empty fingers. Porcelain skin resembles that of a doll's—–it is perfectly preserved, not a single blemish present, the tissue cold & grey, the mark of a dead woman. Her cadaver rests peacefully in its crystalline prison. Thin eyelids that show the intricate network of her veins have fallen over her pale blue eyes, singing them to sleep so that her gaze may haunt him no more. Time and time again he would peer through the crystal to observe her comatose state, hoping that something would have changed, that her corpse would have moved from its stiff, rigid position, but still nothing. Her body remained frozen in time. Her lungs did not rise up and down. Her eyes never once opened.

He always thought they would.

Fingers carefully trace the exterior of the glass-like cage she resides in. It is her new home, he observes. Traitorous, treacherous woman, daughter of evil and harbinger of woe & despair, claimer of so many lives of those he had once known. Comrades had fallen by her hand. But she had also been responsible for her own downfall, the erection of a prison of crystal, an impermeable barrier to preserve the last of her secrets she had tried so hard to conceal. So enigmatic, she always had been. Always kept to herself, never spoke much. Perhaps the wall of crystal had always been there, although he had not been able to see it.

He slides the blades of his gear out of their hilts and begins to attempt to break the barrier by force. Again, he drives the swords through the glass, but not even a scratch is produced on the surface of the mineral. The dull teeth of his weapons do little to shatter her protective walls. Tears of frustration and hurt pour from his eyes and down his cheeks, though they fall silently as he attempts to get through to her. _Answer me, Annie, so that I can speak to you one last time. Tell me your secrets_.

His blades are now bent and useless from his futile attempt to get to her, to break the barrier between the two of them. Soft metals do nothing against her crystal. He knows this. Goes through it every day, why hasn't he learned? Defeat arrives at his conscience in the form of anger, so much PAIN that had sat dormant in his blood until he is forced once again to witness her betrayal. He continues to hope wistfully for her awakening, to see her live once more, but she is unresponsive. Dead. Trapped within. Her true identity, the murderous visage of the Female Titan, painted delicately across her skin as she rests here now with the facade of a stoic, apathetic teenage girl.

She was far from that.

One time it had been just the two of them. A couple days following Marco's death, she had approached him, arms folded across her chest with a look of disinterest spread over her sharp features as if she simply did not care. But she had spoken to him. And he never asked for her company nor her sympathy.

She had given him both.

_"I don't want to lose you," he had told her._

It's far too late—- he already  **has**. Before him now is a coffin of glass. She is no longer alive—-no signs of life adorn the features that are now a shade of sickly grey. She is a cadaver trapped within her own cage. A caged bird who had never been set free, simply ordered to follow the commands of another, a girl assigned to kill and slaughter. A marionette, strings pulled by ulterior motives of another—-he doesn't know who—-but she doesn't deserve this. Never did.

From his bag he acquires a sketchbook, and with a pencil he gently marks the date at the top of the page. Trembling fingers sift through the previous pages in the book, emotion resurfacing once more before her death-like state. Each page before is a day prior to the next, and each picture is a portrait of her current state. Always the same. Never different aside from the stray marks his pencil had made in the process. Hundreds upon hundreds of hauntingly similar pages, a mirage of the tragedy of Annie Leonhardt, captured in a sketch from his hand every single day. Nearly identical save for human error.

It has been ten years since Annie Leonhardt had trapped herself within her crystal.

Today is March 22nd. It would have been Annie Leonhardt's twenty-seventh birthday.

And so he sits himself down onto the soil underground where her crystal resides, sketching her portrait once more. Yet another birthday passed, yet another day of her death gone by. Yet another identical picture to add to the album of her portraits. Annie, Annie, it was always Annie.

His pencil glides across the paper, writing her name beside the drawing as he does so. Twenty-seven, he writes. Twenty seven, twenty-seven, twenty-seven. Over and over until his hand cannot write anymore, until the page is filled with the age she would have been.

Rest in peace, Annie Leonhardt. Happy Birthday.


	7. Dinner with the Kirstein's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in modern au.

"Are you ready?"

Of course she wasn't.

Mikasa had pulled up beside the mailbox of the Kirstein household, where she was dropping Annie off for the night. The blonde in question stared at the two-story house and vaguely wondered where Jean's bedroom was, thinking of anything,  _anything_ , to keep her mind off of the slight trembling of her hands. He couldn't be serious if he thought she could fit in with all of this.

"Annie, relax."

She shook her head. "I feel stupid." A pale hand ran through her hair, which was sprung free from its usual bun, long blonde tresses falling down to her bosom. She had to endure two hours of Christa fretting over her outfit and makeup before finally making a goddamn decision. For the night, Annie wore a long-sleeved striped black and white top, tucked into a high-waisted black skirt that stopped mid-thigh, and black suede knee-high boots; and over that was a sleeveless, olive green jacket. Some stupid necklace hung around her neck, and her hair hid the diamond studs in her ears. Light makeup had been applied to her face. She wasn't against eyeliner, even taking a liking to the cat-eye look, but god did she really have to wear lipstick? She could barely tell the difference, but she could feel it on her lips.

And damn it - she detested purses. At least Christa had the decency to keep it simple.

"You look nice," the raven disagreed, fingers curving loosely around the steering wheel. Annie then looked over and met the other's gaze for the first time since she got in the car. Mikasa nodded, and Annie felt herself dip her head in return, before her gaze slipped passed Annie's head. "You better go. I think somebody is waiting for you."

Annie turned around in her seat to look just as the curtains fell closed quickly. But she caught the light brown hair before it disappeared.

She snorted, hand on the handle, and gave the door a push. "Idiot."

"Good luck," Mikasa called out, maintaining that quiet tone she always had.

Annie grunted and shut the door with a little more force than she had intended, sighing to herself as she walked up the pathway to the porch. She took the first two steps and, knowing who was without a doubt behind that door, lifted her fist to knock.

Someone kill her now.

The door opened, revealing her…date. Ironically, the shade of his thin sweater was the same shade as her jacket, fitting his slim, toned torso, and to complete the look he had on dark jeans and brown shoes.

Dammit, he was attractive.

"Hey."

"Hey. Mikasa saw you looking at us."

Jean ran his hand through his hair sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Creep."

Despite her jab he grinned that lopsided grin of his and stepped back to let her inside. Taking a deep breath, Annie took her first steps into Jean's home and cast a brief look around, feeling his eyes travel her small, curvy figure. Well, shit. He had a nice place. Compared to hers, at least. The ceilings were higher, rooms wider and more welcoming. She could smell apple and cinnamon coming from the candle on the coffee table by the couch. Atmosphere…open.

Jean's arm snaked around her waist before she could explore more, pulling her back in front of him. He had closed the door behind her at some point, because her narrowed gaze smoothed out into a blank stare as he gently pushed her back against it. Ugh. She knew she was blushing now. He lowered his face down to hers and tilted his head, brushing his lips against hers. And just like that, little stoic, emotionless Annie was rendered to nothing but  _mush_  in his arms. He knew how to get through, over, around, and under all of her walls, and she hated it and loved it at the same time. His kisses were returned in full, already on her tiptoes by the second, and arching into him by the third.

"Jean! Who is at the door? Is it your girlfriend?"

The pair broke apart at the sound of his mother's voice, staring at each other wordlessly with flushed cheeks. He grinned, and she smirked back.

"Just a second, Ma!" he called back, gaze never leaving hers as his fingers fumbled with the armholes of her jacket. "May I?"

Annie rolled her eyes but let him push the article of clothing down her shoulders, she pulling her arms up and through the holes to make it easier for him. Balancing her purse on one shoulder, she watched him put her jacket up on the coat rack, feeling her heart race as another set of footsteps came closer to them.

"Oh hello!"

Annie fought a grimace and lifted her gaze to the other woman. She recognized her face from the pictures Jean showed her. The divorce and single motherhood took a toll on the once-thin woman. She was a little taller than Annie, with a pear shape, brown hair, and her son's eyes.

"You must be the girl Jean talks so much about." She stuck out a friendly hand that Annie had to remind herself to shake.  _He talks about me? To his mom? Huh. He had to have lied to her._

_"Ma!"_  Jean whined, and Annie's lips twitched.

Ms. Kirstein smiled and shook her head, returning her gaze to the blonde. "It's so nice to finally meet you, sweetheart. Are you hungry?"

_Not really_. "I guess I could eat something," Annie said, despite what she thought.

"Great!"

* * *

"So, Annie! Tell me about yourself," Ms. Kirstein insisted before plopping a piece of turkey in her mouth with her fork. The three sat at the dining room table, Annie and Jean sitting across from the single mother. At the question, Annie tensed up a bit; but advice from Armin reminded her to remain calm. "Are you involved in any extracurricular activities?"

"No," Annie said. "But I do take kickboxing classes on the weekends."

"Ooh,  _kickboxing_ , huh? Interesting. Jean never told me you were into that kind of thing." Her gaze drifted over to her son, who was gripping his fork a little tighter than he had been before.

"It's because of her that  _Armin_  isn't picked on anymore," Jean said with a tight smile. Annie watched the exchange between mother and son, eyebrow arching; from what Jean's warned her beforehand, Ms. Kirstein was that type of mother that loved anyone her son brought home, as long as they loved her cooking. A classy, all-around  _family_  lady. But Annie was none of those things. She wasn't gifted with the combination of Sasha, Mikasa, and Christa. She loved getting dirty and wear sweatpants and hoodies more than tight shirts and high skirts. And the  _only reason_ why she was dressed so stupidly was for  _Jean's_  sake.

"Is that right?" Ms. Kirstein mused.

"Ma,  _you know_  that."

Her face fell slightly. "Of course..." She smiled again at Annie when their eyes met, but Annie could see that this smile was more forced. "What are your grades looking like?"

Annie tread carefully. "Better than they were before. Armin and Marco are the reasons why I'm passing."

"Passing?"

"I was never really a fan of school."

"I see."

"But...that was when I was pretty messed up. I was a loner until I met everyone. They were unusually nice, and it was  _disgusting_." Annie started smirking as Jean snorted in his glass; Ms. Kirstein's laugh was brief and almost inaudible, but that was enough for Annie to keep going. "Armin was the one who invited me to their lunch table. Jean hated me," she added nonchalantly, pointing her thumb in her boyfriend's direction.

"You did not!" Ms. Kirstein gasped, gaping at her son with wide eyes.

"I did." Jean nodded, running his finger around the rim of his glass; he played along, "With every fiber of my being."

"Don't worry. The feeling was very mutual."

"Neh." Jean made a face at her.

"Ugh, no wonder they call you a horse." Annie wrinkled her nose, turning her gaze back to the now bemused mother, looking from one teenager to the next.

"What changed?" Ms. Kirstein smiled warmly.

_...Of course._

Annie wasn't good with sharing her feelings on the matter. And even Armin was better at describing her feelings than she was. All she knew was that she liked Jean. A lot. As much as he irritated the living daylights out of her, as much as he repulsed her with the things he did, she knew for a fact that life would be shitty without him. She wanted to punch him and snap at him, but more often than not did she want to hug him and kiss his stupid face. And then sit on it.

But she couldn't exactly say  _that_  in front of his mother. ...Well, she  _could_ , but Annie was actually starting to respect her.

She must have been quiet for a bit too long, because while her gaze was downcast Annie felt Jean's hand curving around hers under the table. She inhaled a surprisingly shaky breath in silence, turning her hand up in his and lacing their fingers together. Comfort and warmth surged through her body, melting away at the icy exterior she always kept up. Annie met Ms. Kirstein's patient gaze and squeezed Jean's hand tighter.

Out of all the things she could've said, what came fumbling out of her mouth was, " _Coffee_."

Jean chuckled from beside her, giving her hand a squeeze, and Ms. Kirstein laughed and clapped her hands. "Wonderful!"

She didn't pry again on the subject, and Annie was grateful.

* * *

Annie helped Jean with the dishes, she rinsing in drying while he washed and gave each clean, soapy dish to her. They were both quiet, off in their own thoughts for a while. It was peaceful...well, until _Jean_  broke that peace.

"Coffee? Really?"

Annie sighed, fingers clenching around the rag in her hand. "Yes.  _Coffee_ , Jean. It's _coffee_  that you spilled on my shirt that day. It was  _coffee_  that you bought for me the next day. We go out for coffee  _every morning_.  _Coffee_  is the reason why you have a  _girlfriend_  in the first place."

"Hey, I was just jokin'." Jean held a soapy hand up innocently. "No need to get all hostile on me." He dipped it back in the water, stirring it up a little bit; ripples forming from his movements.

"...Sorry." She's still new to saying that word.

"Don't worry about it." They resumed washing and drying until he broke the silence  _again_. "Annie."

" _What_."

A beat. Then, "I think my mom really likes you."

Annie froze. Jean nudged her with his elbow.

"Did you hear me?"

"I'm right next to you. Of course I -" Annie shook her head, drying her hands off on the towel before turning to face him, leaning against the sink. "Did you just say that she-?"

"Really likes you. Yeah. She talked to me before I came in here." Jean shook his hands after pulling out the drain stopper, making sure not to flick water pellets in Annie's direction (as _tempting_ as that was); he used her towel to dry his hands off as well, and mirrored her position against the sink. "You sound shocked."

"You know why." Annie gave him a knowing look. "This..." Annie gestured towards her outfit, "isn't me. What's she gonna think when I come here again and I'm in a t-shirt and boy shorts?"

"I think you look cute in t-shirts and boy shorts."

"...That's not the point."

Jean sighed, pushing himself up into a proper standing position, taking a short step to the side only to close in from behind her. Draping his arms around her small, lithe frame. She sighed and leaned back into him, and he squeezed her a little tighter. "Look," he said, breath brushing against her temple, "she's not gonna care if you have a skirt for every day of the month. I didn't tell her everything - I'm not stupid. But I do know _you_ , Leonhart." He kissed her there, and she closed her eyes at his touch. "You're just gonna have to trust me."

Her voice barely came above a whisper. "My dad told me to never trust anyone."

"I'm not your dad," he whispered back, arms loosening from around her, and she took the opportunity to turn around in his embrace. He was right. He _wasn't_  her dad. And for the moment, Annie couldn't care less. Insecurities - wow, didn't even know she _had_  them - forgotten, her hands crept up his chest as she leaned up on her toes to kiss him. He met her halfway.

The only sounds emitting from the kitchen were the soft running of water from the faucet and the whisper of their lips moving in synchronization.


	8. Technically Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in modern, gone girl au. Written by Lindsay.

_I am so much happier now that I'm dead. Technically missing. Soon to be presumed dead. Gone. And my lazy, lying, cheating, oblivious husband will go to prison for my murder. Jean Kirschstein took my pride and my dignity and my hope and my money. He took and took from me until I no longer existed. That's murder. Let the punishment fit the crime._

He used to kiss me, slowly, his lips pressed against mine out of something he would've called  **love**. He'd pull away then, and with the tips of his two slender fingers would he brush my lips, just one single touch, before lifting his hand from my face entirely. It wasn't love— never was. It was simply marriage.

_They told us and told us and told us, "marriage is **hard work**."_

That was until I saw him with  **her**. Another woman, young enough to be his daughter, by the looks of it. Long blonde hair, short in stature, pretty blue eyes and the features of a doll. Gorgeous, large-chested. Everything Jean would've wanted that I didn't have. 'Cool girl'? Maybe.

But then he kissed her, and just after pulling away, I saw him. Two fingers lifted to her lips, a single touch and a smile of a cheater, a fake, a liar. Jean Kirschstein had whisked me away from New York to Missouri, made me and forced me to submit and become the midwestern girl I had never wanted to be. 'Amazing Annie' was fucking married. But marriage was a trap, a vortex of fighting and lies and altercations I had always expected. My identity murdered, my freedom stolen, Amazing Annie no more.

And now, on our fifth anniversary, I thought I'd award him with a surprise. A gift. A trap to ensnare him and to bring to light all that he has done to me. I don't have regrets. Zero. Jean had it coming. If only the poor fool could have seen it from afar.

Amazing Annie will be soon be missing. Gone. Murdered by her cheating husband.

I cut my hair. Long blonde tresses chopped sloppily to my shoulders in the bathroom of a gas station. Hair dye purchased from the supermarket, the shitty boxed kind that reeked of chemicals, was lathered onto my light blonde locks as I changed my identity. I had to. No other option. Annie Leonhardt Kirschstein was missing. Dead. I had to blend in, become a dumbass just like the rest of the residents around here.

I staged my own murder. I left it sloppy enough to raise suspicions. This took months of careful precision, details and planning that he was too naive to ever suspect me of. I wrote a fake journal, exaggerated the details to make others believe that we were once so happy, until he began to become abusive. And all that was needed to secure the lies was befriending the local neighbour, a pregnant idiot (Sasha, her name was—-only the easiest target) who was all too friendly and welcoming. Unsuspecting. I talked to her, fed her with lies of my husband's alleged abuse and manipulated her to believe that I was afraid. Jean never touched me, never abused me  **physically**. But the abuse of the pain he has caused me mentally was all the justification I needed to frame him for my own murder.

_Why did I deserve to die? I wasn't the asshole. Let the punishment fit the crime._

The police are certain to figure out exactly what I had intended to happen. Anniversary clues are placed around the house in places he—Jean, my sweet, loving, cheating husband—is certain to find them. And each clue will be a step towards framing the asshole for the murder of his poor, oppressed, "pregnant" wife. He will no longer be the victim, but the criminal.

The cheater he always was.

_When two people love each other and they can't make that work, that's the real tragedy._

Happy anniversary, Jean.


	9. Daddy Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in modern au.

"What's got you in a mood?" Annie noted, a single eyebrow arching in question. She had gotten texts from Marco, Mina, and Armin throughout the day saying that Jean was irritable and he wasn't acting like himself. Normally, she'd think nothing of it especially since she was the type to get annoyed by  _something_  almost every day, but since she was getting messages from more than just Marco (Armin especially) she decided to take the situation in her own hands. After soccer practice, she shot him a quick text message saying to meet her at the park and mentally crossed her fingers in hopes of her stubborn boyfriend showing up. Thankfully, he did with his backpack still slung over his shoulder (he must have been out and about to avoid going home, she predicted) and jaw taut; gaze downcast to the ground. She scooted over on the bench to give him some room for him to sit.

"Nothin'," he mumbled under his breath, letting his bag slip off of his shoulder and into his clenched fist, sitting down next to her. Before she came she grabbed two slushies on the way, and handed the cherry flavored one over to him. Silently, he took it and drew out a long, measured sip. She continued to watch him, now purplish lips latching off of her straw when he still didn't say anything. The eyebrow arched higher.

Realizing his mistake, Jean stopped drinking to look over at her. And a small, crooked grin finally began to spread.

"Hey, blueberry lips," he chuckled a little and readjusted his body so his knees were angled towards her, leaning in to kiss her shortly after. Annie hummed in reply, lifting a hand to press her cool fingertips against his cheek.

"Hey, yourself," she replied when their kiss broke, icy blue hues appraising him. "Mind telling me what's going on with you?"

Whatever was left of his small smile vanished instantly. "Marco told you, huh?"

"Well, when you're being more of an ass than usual, something's up. Armin and Mina were worried about you too." She nudged him with her shoulder. "So start talking."

Jean took another sip of his slush and sighed. "Alright, fine. My dad's back in town, and whenever he comes around he always has to fuck shit up. Tell me what I'm doing wrong and what I should be doing, saying shit to my mom that I don't like. He's always lying to my face and trying to convince me that he's doing 'what's best for me' when the dick hasn't been around since I was a kid. How do you expect me to act, huh? My mom's so goddamn naïve and she eats everything he bullshits out and it's just –  _so fucking complicated_  –" He put his face in his hand, eyebrows scrunching down, and Annie listened in silence. "He keeps leaving and coming back to say shit like that and leave  _again_. Why can't he just make a damn decision? Either stay or go and  _don't ever show your face again_. Ugh…" he huffed. "He should do the world a favor and jump off a fucking cliff."

He lowered his hand and met her blank, understanding gaze with a deep sigh. "Sorry, I'm just really stressed out…"

She wasn't good with advice. Far from it. Comforting people was a whole new battlefield, but she was learning, and seeing him like this made her heart clench uncomfortably. Draping an arm around his shoulder, fingers closing around his collar, Annie leaned in and gave him a soft, lingering kiss on the cheek. He closed his eyes at her touch, opening them again when she pulled back.

"What was that for?" he breathed, cheeks faintly pink.

She smiled but it didn't meet her eyes. "Let's just say you're not the only one with daddy issues."

Jean grinned, slipping his arm around her and pulling her close for another kiss, this time on the lips; free hands gripped collar and waist, occupied ones still holding their slushies. Heads tilted and the kiss deepened, and it's safe to say that Annie's stomach was doing backflips. But she will never admit it out loud, even if her life depended on it. He was warm, and his tongue tasted like cherries.

"Let's go to my place," he whispered against her lips before he pulled away, leaving a pout on Annie's lips; their kisses made both pairs of lips more purple than blue and red respectively.

"Your dad?" she whispered back in question, their foreheads touching.

"I'm gonna do something stupid if I see him." He raised his head to brush his lips aganst her forehead. "I don't wanna be alone with Ma."

Annie nodded. "Okay."

They got up from the bench, fingers lacing together as they walked, straws going back up to their lips.

Jean's dad wasn't there (yet anyway), and the couple went straight upstairs to his room. He took her bag, and his, and set them in the corner by the closet. The apathetic blonde slipped out of her shoes and sighed, slipping into Jean's bed and making herself comfortable. She watched her boyfriend linger by the corner, eyes meeting across the room. He wasn't going to stand there all afternoon, was he?

She must have spoken that last part out loud, because Jean laughed and finally moved, climbing into the bed and on top of her; straddling her hips and hovering slightly so he wasn't squishing her. He leaned down and stole a kiss, then planted an open-mouthed kiss on her neck before resting his head in her shoulder. Knowing what he was seeking, Annie's arms locked around his neck, her legs wrapping around his waist in the same fashion; kissing his cheek softly.

"Thanks," he mumbled into her shoulder. "For being here and –"

"I know." Her grip on him tightened ever-so-slightly. "Where's your mom?"

"Grocery shopping probably."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"Just wondering." She began to stroke the back of his hair in long, soothing patterns; making sure to scratch his scalp with her nails. He groaned in her throat, kissing her there in appreciation.

"When do you have to be home?" he murmured.

"Whenever I have to leave." She didn't exactly have a curfew, but she wasn't in a rush to get home either.

Jean slipped his arms around her. "Hm…"

"Why?" she breathed against his cheek.

"Just wondering," he mirrored her, and she hid her little smile in his shoulder.


	10. Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in post-Female Titan arc. Written by Lindsay.

_The night is my companion,  
and solitude my guide._

That's what Annie would have said.

She is sleeping beauty, yet she's no princess,only the ghost of one. He mustn't be swayed by the innocent visage that sleep brings to death's harbinger. Pale, delicate feminine palms are tinted crimson, marked with murder and sin. Failure and destruction.

She rests on the bed, finally freed from her encased prison of crystal, with only two sheets to blanket her bare body. Stripped of her humanity and her freedom, and of the clothes that once adorned her effete frame. He stops before her. Her beauty, he is unable to comprehend it. Why she draws him back every time.

She belongs in the custody of the government. She's a criminal, a killer, a murderer.

His fingers hover over her body, so exposed, so vulnerable. Bereft of her armor, of the crystal she had erected to protect herself. Bare skin just barely out of reach. Breathing hitches in his own throat, caught and restricted by her serpentine tongue. He imagines her speaking, remembers her tongue so bitter and sharp, the tongue that cut through the dreams and lives of soldiers with just a single word or more.

_Would I spend forever here  
and not be satisfied?_

He hates her, swears on his mother & of the lives of his deceased comrades he does. Abhors her, abhors every little inch of her wretched, willowy body. Despises the scowl that presides over her features when she's irritated, despises the way she folds her arms over her bosom when she's disinterested. Antipathy reigns where lust does not. Yet he still falls for her.

Loves her, loves her milk-white skin, loves the tiny smile that adorns her lips when she's impressed ( though it is an anomaly he seldom gets to observe ), loves the messy golden tresses that tumble over her shoulders, free from her updo when she awakens in the morning. He misses the taste of her lips on his own when they've finished with each other, sweaty & remorseful. She's cursing, tugging on her sweatshirt over her bare chest, pretending she's never known him. He's watching her leave, begging her to stay as she refuses to acknowledge. Yet she's back before evening. Every single time.

 _And I would be the one_  
To hold you down  
Kiss you so hard  
I'll take your breath away

The same woman whom he loathes is also the one who he is enamored by. Fascinated by. How would she sound with his fingers wrapped around her neck, choking her tiny little throat so that her voice is unable to haunt him any longer? He wants to hear his name on her tongue, begging and pleading him for mercy. He wants to hear it from her. Wants to hear that voice one last time, imploring him to cease and spare her wretched life.

 _Oh you speak to me in riddles and_  
You speak to me in rhymes  
My body aches to breathe your breath,  
Your words keep me alive

He'd smother her with kisses, hold her down with the very love that he also swears he despises, slender digits entangled in her hair and pulling her closer. Annie Leonhardt, always an enigmatic figure, with the mystery he wishes he could decipher. So shrouded by her own riddles he feels forced to solve her. To attempt and understand how she's thinking, how those gears are turning inside of her head. Annie Leonhardt, what is on your mind?

 _Into this night I wander,_  
It's morning that I dread,  
Another day of knowing of  
The path I fear to tread,

Her pale blue eyes open and he's soon staring straight into them. A vapid, blue void. Two identical pools of ice. She's silent, completely mute save for the sound of her breathing. Breaths so shallow he swears she's almost a corpse, with a figure so emaciated and malnourished her clavicle protrudes from her chest, scapulas prominent and hauntingly defined against her pale skin as she sits up from the bed. One hand still clutches the sheets to her bare bosom, and her reaction to his presence over her is entirely apathetic. Stoic as she always had been. Completely devoid of any reaction, as if she's got nothing left to say to him.

"Can't you speak?" He taunts her, gripping her skeletal shoulders with both of his strong hands. He presses further, holds her only mere inches from his face. Her body rolls limply and lifelessly. Still no response crossing those ever stoic features.

The words are met with the same icy stare. A stare that can almost be mistaken for confusion if he's not careful.

"Goddamnit, Annie! Answer me. You've got to explain yourself."

She looks at him as if she has nothing to explain. Nothing to justify all of the lives she has taken.

He shakes her again and her sunken eyes fall back into her skull. She's limp, feels like a sack of bones and flesh beneath his fingertips. He is not aware of how hard he has jostled her weakened body.

_Nothing stands between us here  
And I won't be denied_

"Annie! Don't do this. Speak. They're gonna—-"

He stops himself. He knows what the Military Police has in store for her. Until they gain answers from her, they'll torture her until she speaks. They'll force the truth out of her.

Once they've got the truth, she'll be executed.

"They'll hurt you."

She looks faint, her skin pale and devoid of color. Blood, he figures, that has fallen from her head.

He lets her fall back onto the mattress, where she draws her knees back against her chest and pulls her body into the fetal position. She's shaking, visibly so, shuddering and shivering as she rolls herself further away from him. This is Annie Leonhardt—- the girl he had known prior had only been the woman she was perfected to be. An apathetic, murderous, killer.

This is Annie at the core; raw, emotional, and absolutely broken. Shattered by her own mind along with the glass that had encased her. And he is unable to speak, unable to respond or even know what to say. She isn't speaking because she cannot. Her trauma has rendered her mute.

But most haunting at all are the tears that trail down her cheeks.

_And after I'd, wipe away the tears  
Just close your eyes dear_

He ghosts his fingers over her lips and kisses her just once. She tries to pull away but gives in. He sees her struggle has failed. She's weak and she needs him. Clings to him. Vulnerably so.

One thumb wipes those tears that fall from her eyes. Annie's tears. Something strange, something foreign. Emotion. Jean cannot and does not know how to react. Not when her fate rests in his hands, when she will be murdered for treason outside of his control.

Rest, Annie, for there's nothing I can do.

_Just close your eyes, dear._


	11. Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in pre-Female Titan arc. Written by Lindsay.

The way in which he looks at her is absolutely sickening. Overcome with desire, with lust, with admiration in the way that she moves, a twitch of his lips as he speaks to her, pale cheeks flushed crimson as her eyes meet his. Unrequited, of that Annie is positive.

Ebony tresses blanket just the tips of her shoulders, typically muffled by the fabric of the red scarf that rests around her neck. OH, how Annie would relish in her own sadistic desire, twisting the crimson garment until Mikasa can breathe no longer. One of her deadly sins put to rest—- envy.

Envious of the swing of her hips, of the very acumen she possesses in both battle and combat. Envious, namely, of the way in which she is able to make him swoon and become a helpless, fumbling imbecile at the tips of her calloused fingers. Power that Annie is simply unable to yield. A power that Mikasa Ackerman has that she does not.

Yet to admit and succumb to her own jealousy? Jealousy is a weakness, a flaw of human nature. The desire to be like someone else, to have what one does not. The desire to be the person one has always wanted to be. Human instinct at its finest, but Annie is not human. Nor does she classify herself as even capable of being one; she is devoid of all emotion ( or so she adamantly believes ), devoid of the very qualities that make a human. Weak. That she is not.

So she stands from the sidelines, slender arms folded over her bosom as she watches him intently and pensively. An unsettling fact that he does not know—- she is always listening. Waiting. Expectant of the day he finally takes notice. Apathy graces sharp features, effete frame leaned against the wall behind her. One petite foot pushes her body off of the stone, and she approaches him. Bold move.

"Kirstein." Laconic and monotonous. Icily sharp.

He turns to face her, standing beside the ravenette who fiddles with the fabric of her crimson scarf, steel greys meeting icy blues in a deadly stare. The antipathy is mutual, that Annie is sure of; Mikasa doesn't trust her and it's evident. Annie knows this and pays careful attention to every beautifully calculated move she makes. Each step of tiny, perfect feet she wishes to break, crippling the skill that isolates Mikasa from the rest. Beautifully tragic.

"Annie?" He inquires. Always so shocked when she speaks to him— eyes wide and lips parted. Perhaps he's fearful, hesitant, apprehensive of her distance from the rest. The cold aura that engenders many to write her off as hostile. Hardly the truth— not yet, anyway.

"I'd like a word."

He nods and gestures to Mikasa that he must leave. Annie leads him away from the camp and from the others, to a place where she is certain it is just the two of them, in isolation where nobody is able to hear the conversation.

"I wish you'd do yourself a favor and stop trying to get her attention. Don't make me pity you. It's rather PATHETIC, don't you suppose?"

Annie wastes no time conveying her point, but she's clever. Knows better than to jump to the conflicting feelings that flutter within her abdomen, feelings of which she herself is never sure of. For love, it simply doesn't exist, does it? Confident that it's a myth. But she can fight for whatever and whomever she pleases.

"You called me over for this? What the hell, is this some ambush?"

"Only doing you a favor. You imbecile; look how foolish you are! Trying to get the attention of a young woman already swooning with love for someone else. Surely you must be blind!"

Her words must have struck a weak point, as anger fades from his brows and is replaced by self-doubt. A pitiful expression, a look of rejection and of shattered expectations. An expression that she takes great, sick pleasure in, knowing well that he can indeed be hers. A selfish desire. Yet when has she ever been anything but selfish? Her father taught her to take, take, and take. And that she would.

"The hell are you talking about, Annie?"

"Eren Jaeger. Surely you know him?"

A confident raise of her brow. The corners of crimson lips twitch with sadistic & selfish derision, the look of dreadful greed playing upon her features.

"They're practically sibl—-"

"Not by blood," she responds flatly, "haven't you seen the way she looks at him? Helplessly in love. Pathetic. You're chasing after someone you'll never have, Jean. Give it up or so help your pitiful soul."

The concept of heartbreak materializes on his features. He turns away from her, angry, defiant, as if he simply cannot bear to hear any more from her toxic lips. As if the obvious were so difficult to detect, anyway.

"Shut the fuck up," he sputters.

"Beautiful language. Now tell me some more about the woman you're in love with."

He shakes his head and rises from the log he is seated on. Two rapid shakes of his head, side to side as he tries to eliminate the images she has planted into his mind. Impossible, and that's why it works. She stifles a dark chuckle.  
But then he catches her off guard.

"Are you jealous, Annie? Is that what this is about?"

She is forced into silence for an extended period of time, stunned by his ability to concoct a comeback that isn't entirely foolish. A jab at her own deadly sin—- envy. Amongst the many that she carries as burden, he has discovered one. And this she does not expect, forcing herself to take a step back to mull over the prospect. Sure this whole ordeal is selfishly planned. But how is it selfish? Because she wants him and Mikasa does not? This isn't for the good of Jean, it's for—–

—the good of herself. Selfishly envious. Jealous.

"No…." she begins. Completely taken by surprise.

"Bullshit. I wish you'd have said something instead of all this shit."

"It doesn't make any of it less true." Agreeing to his accusation without saying so explicitly.

He settles back down beside her, features softening with the tone of her voice. Suddenly Annie is not condescending and he is not angry. Incredible how the truth is able to twist and contort the outcome, turning it around upon herself, bringing her facade one step closer to discovery. A risky gamble to play with Jean, placing her bet within him.

"Annie. What does this even mean?"

"What does 'what' mean? It's nothing, Jean. Absolutely nothing. You heard nothing."

She gets up to leave but he grabs her wrist, pleading and begging her to stay with the widening of his eyes. It's an offer she cannot refuse, standing before him now, even if she threatens to reveal everything in the name of it.

"I don't believe you'd understand."

"I want to."

"No."

And so Cinderella leaves her prince, fleeing the premises that she had invited him to talk in and making a complete and utter fool of herself. First she had accused him of being the fool, but perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps it is she and her twisted, distorted sense of reality that had been the reason for all of this to happen. A fatal mistake.

_I'm sorry, Jean. But I can't tell you the truth._


	12. When is a Monster Not a Monster?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in canon, two years later. Redemption!Annie.

They were quiet as they entered his bedroom side by side, eyes downcast, he letting her go in first before shutting the door behind himself. So much shit went down tonight and he could finally get some shuteye. When he heard her footsteps behind him, he shouldn't have been surprised. He didn't even stop her, or even turned around to look at her for that matter. She was beaten up as bad as he was, and risking a glance at her as she walked further into his room only made his stomach twist in painful knots. Made his entire body ache even more for her.

"You can take either side of the bed," Jean muttered, already working on removing his gear. His back facing her. The bed wasn't huge, but neither was she, and they'd have to sleep close together in order to be comfortable. Annie didn't respond back, but when he heard the sound of her gear falling to the floor as she removed them he turned around fully to face the door and gave her some privacy. Levi would disapprove of this and their lack of cleanliness, but Jean could care less about the former.

Bruised fingers began working his shirt from the top down, throbbing as the additional pressure from the pads of his fingers pressed together caused him slight discomfort, Jean turned back around when he thought was appropriate, only to find the blonde sitting on the edge of the bed; head ducked, hands curved around the edge on either side of her hips. He had no clue what could be going through her mind (although then again he wasn't Annie, and they had polar opposite thought processes), but he was going to find out. Balling the dingy, bloody article of clothing and tossing it to the side, he walked up to her with hesitance and stealth; watching her body language in case it screamed at him to not come any further. He didn't pick up on any of those signs.

He's on his knees in front of her now, tilting his head to meet her gaze; his own gentle and patient, and worried for her wellbeing. "Hey, you okay?"

She didn't reply automatically, and he didn't blame her. Her gaze dropped to his bare torso, where he knew was covered in various bruises and cuts, and a pale slender hand slowly drifted across the short distance between them to touch him. He caught her wrist, but not roughly, and curled his hand around her curling fingers. He's met with no resistance, and he brought her hand to his mouth, maintaining eye contact with her as he let his lips brush against the inside of her wrist. He could sense her relief, see it in the smooth rise and fall of her shoulders, see it in the way she looked at him.

"You almost scared me for a minute...back there," she said finally, her unhinged emotions ready to break free, trembling the steady monotone of her voice. She worked so hard to keep her emotions kept away, but her walls crumbled when she was around him, and he was positive she hated it sometimes.

Oh did Jean remember clearly. He remembered how his blood ran cold when the abnormal was heading straight for Armin. He remembered how he was there in a blink of an eye, pushing Armin out of the way before his friend could get eaten. He remembered the titan's fingers clenched around his body so hard he could have sworn a rib or two cracked. He remembered the bewildered, frightened look on Armin's face as he stared in shock. He remembered Annie catching Armin before his head could make a sickening crunch on the ground, and the look of pure horror etching across her face before she was running for him and the abnormal.

He remembered the way Armin screamed Annie's name in agony before lightning struck down from the sky, illuminating the sky in an angry yellow fury, and the Female Titan burst into the fray with unyielding bloodlust and rage.

"Couldn't tell," Jean murmured against her skin, peering up at her through his long eyelashes.

"Armin wasn't exactly making things better." She slipped her hand from his grip to wring both of her trembling hands, rubbing her palms together.

"Did you talk to him?" He was worried about him, and they hadn't exactly had the chance to talk after what happened; which mostly considered of them barely surviving with Annie leading the way into battle.

Annie shook her head. "Tomorrow."

"Alright." He kneaded her knees, stroking her with his thumbs. "Do you wanna shower now or -?"

"It's three in the morning. I doubt a few more hours is gonna kill me. I just want…"

"What?"

Annie swallowed inaudibly, arms draping around his neck as she bent for their foreheads to touch. He sat up on his knees, slipping his arms around her waist and holding her close to him. Her answer came in a whisper. "I just want to rest."

Nodding, he kissed her shoulder - the closest spot of her skin near to his lips - and stood to his feet. Annie began to scoot backwards in the bed, and he circled around on the other side to join her. Slipping under the cold sheets and fighting a shiver, Jean hooked his arm around the small of Annie's back and pulled her close to him. She sighed deeply against her skin, curling into the warmth of his body, and her arms resumed their place around his neck. He mirrored her, arms wounding around her waist, and their legs began to tangle together as the two aligned their bodies as perfectly and closely as possible.

"How are you?" she mumbled against his shoulder blade

"Me?" he lifted a hand to stroke the back of her hair.

"Mm."

"I'm alright. Just glad you're safe."

"I'm glad you're safe," she told him in the rare, small voice he loved, and he kissed her scalp.

"I would've been a goner if it wasn't for you."

"You can thank me tomorrow."

"Deal."

Her hand slipped down to his pectoral, fingers curling in slightly. "It could've been a lot worse, you know."

"Thanks for the reminder."

"No, I'm serious. I could've not made it in time." Annie dragged her nails across his skin as she moved her hand in an open and close motion. "I could've -"

"Better me than Armin."

"Don't say that."

"You know I'm right. Armin's been getting us through a lot of shit with that big brain of his. I'm just the asshole holding on for the ride. For as long as I can. While I'm still here."

"Well for an asshole, you are important. To me." She lifted her face to meet his gaze, their noses grazing against each other.

"I'm not smart. I'm not like you or Eren." His eyebrows scrunched down, letting out his insecurities to her.

"You don't have to be a damn shifter or a genius to be important." The hand on his chest flitted up to his jawline. Icy gaze fierce despite the exhaustion. "Putting yourself down won't help you survive." She then closed the space between them and kissed him softly, and his frustrations rolled off his shoulders. He kissed her back, lips still puckered when she ended the kiss to add, "You have to let others lift you up."

Jean chuckled quietly. "Why does that sound like some shit Armin would say?"

"Because that's the same shit Armin told me while I was healing." Annie's lips curved up in the darkness. "His tendencies to deliver hope speeches haven't changed at all, unsurprisingly."

"That's Armin for you."

"I know."

Jean brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Did he ever tell you he killed someone?"

"To save you? Yes. He told me he's still haunted by it, and asked me how I dealt with it...how I still deal with it…"

"And…?"

Annie shook her head solemnly. "After you kill someone, you're never the same. You'll always have that person's blood on your hands, and you'll kill again. And again. Until you're responsible for tens. Hundreds. Thousands."

"Annie, you didn't kill that many people."

"Might as well have. When I was…"

"No. Stop." Jean took her face in his hands and began peppering soft kisses all over her face, pressing two against her nose. "Don't do that to yourself." Even when he was putting himself down not even a minute ago. He didn't want her to do this to herself because he indirectly caused it. "I love you." It's murmured, even softer. A statement. A fact. A promise. "You saved more lives than you took. Back there you were just doing your job. We all were."

She said nothing, and she didn't need to. Her face was angled up towards his as his kisses rained down, holding him a little tighter in her grasp. And when he initiated the next kiss that fell onto her lips, pink supple lips yielded up against his in return and slender fingers weaved into his hair. Pulling him closer. She thanked him in the way she passionately kissed him. Told him she loved in the way her head fell over his chest to listen to his heartbeat; told him in the way she laced their fingers together and curled herself into him as much as her body would allow; as if she wanted to disappear and never be found again.

Jean was her tether and she was his. They kept each other grounded, aware, alive. And they had a connection no one can explain. She's heartlessly murdered and slaughtered without batting an eyelash, worked against humanity up until she was caught, and had so many personality traits and factors that would repulse the average, normal human being.

He was in love with a monster. But then again, weren't they all?


	13. Vulnerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in canon, two years later. Redemption!Annie

_"I think I'm in love with you…and I'm terrified."_

It was in that moment Jean was rooted to the spot, staring dumbfounded at the blonde who stood a good distance across from him; fingers trembling, cold icy hues now melting into an emotional, vulnerable sheet. Her feelings were right there out on the table, and there was no going back.

Jean's never seen Annie look so… _naked_. He's never seen her look so  _weak_ before. She was one of the strongest people he knew, and that wasn't because she kept her emotions under wraps ninety-nine percent of the time. She's been struggling ever since she emerged from the crystal not even a year ago, with her PTSD, with learning to walk again and function, with repairing shattered relationships, with following her  _own_ destiny. The squad's helped her every step of the way, some more willing than others, and he himself took a while before he could even look at her without feeling some form of hostility and resentment. At first he couldn't understand why Armin and Sasha could forgive her so quickly; even Eren and Connie hopped on the damn bandwagon, and it infuriated him tremendously. It was only him and Mikasa who wanted nothing to do with her in the beginning.

And yet here they were, months and months later, feeling the exact opposite towards the female shifter. Mikasa and Annie trained together on their downtime and Annie's time with Eren and Armin made her and Jean grow closer as a result. He went from loathing her to thinking about her when he woke up in the morning. And when he was away from her…and when he went to bed…He startled himself when the butterflies set in; attacking his belly when they locked eyes in a crowded room, when she brushed passed him, when he thought what it would be like to hold her. To kiss her. To run his fingers through her long, blonde tresses.

He's fucked. He knew it. And maybe, just maybe, this wasn't exactly a bad thing. Maybe he could explore these feelings and see what they mean; how deep they ran. His eyes watched her closely, appraising her from head to toe. She was still shaking, and the sight of her being so uneasy twisted his heart.

Slowly, he took a step closer. Then another. And another. Gaze never leaving hers. Did she really think that being in love with him was a bad thing? He used to think that love was bullshit, because it jinxed you, and next thing you know you're titan chow. But that didn't stop him from developing a crush on Mikasa during his adolescence; he never truly acted on his feelings because they slowly began to fade, there was so much shit going on that he didn't have time to think about his personal life, and it was obvious where the raven's heart belonged to. But this was the first time where he had feelings for someone…and those feelings were  _mutual_.

"Hey…" He scooped her hands up in his own, running his thumbs over her knuckles as he held them; they were soft, he noticed. Calloused, yes. But soft. "Hey, it's okay," he said in a gentle tone, hoping to put her at ease.

Annie narrowed her gaze at him in confusion, looking down at their hands before back up at him. "Jean…"

"Look," he went on quietly, "I don't know what I feel exactly, but I do know that I've been curious for a while. When we began spending more time together, I didn't know that I was gonna start…feeling… _things_ ," he struggled. "And I sure as hell didn't know you felt the same way. My confession is shitty, but what I'm trying to say is…I think I'm in love with you too."

She pulled her bottom lip through her teeth, a rosy blush blossoming across her pale cheeks, and he could hear her nervous intake of breath. It was her turn to be speechless, and he waited for her to speak; busying himself by peering down at their hands, fingers intertwining as the silence dragged between them. He let his thumbs run across her skin again absentmindedly,  _somewhat_ calm on the exterior while his heart was ready to burst out of his ribcage.  _Come on, Annie. Say something. Say something before I lose my mind._

She did.

"This…could end really badly."

"Yeah." They lived in a pretty shitty world anyway.

"One of us could die tomorrow."

"I didn't join the Scouts to be told the obvious." When she began to glare at him, he added, "I know."

Her gaze softened. "We could get hurt."

He had a feeling she wasn't just talking about physical pain. "I know."

"We'd be a liability. To each other."

"I know."

"My past will catch up with me."

"Are you trying to talk yourself out of it? Your past doesn't define you, Annie. You've changed."

Her lips pulled up in one corner and she removed one hand from his grasp to lift up to his forehead, threading her fingers through his bangs. "So have you." Her touch sent pleasurable tingles down his spine, and he leaned into her touch; eyes closing for a bit. "You're not as arrogant as you used to be."

"Says Miss Antisocial," he teased, opening his eyes; lidded gaze settling on hers once more. Their faces were closer, and he watched as her eyes dropped to his lips and back up again. He followed suit, and all of a sudden her lips looked really soft and kissable.

"You're such an asshole," she breathed. Jean couldn't remember who leaned in first, but they were gazing at each other in one moment and kissing in the next. His hands were on her hips and pulling her closer, hers on his face and running through his hair. He almost forgot how  _small_  Annie was. She was nearly straining her five foot body against his five foot nine, even on tiptoe, and he was only going to get taller. Bending down, he slipped his arms around her waist and hoisted her up higher, she going with it and locking her legs around his hips. Yes, this was better. Much better. Blindly navigating himself backwards while in the midst of their passionate lip-lock, the back of his knees hit the footboard of her bed – that's right…they were in her bedroom – and he sat down on the edge of it. Annie straddled his lap, dragging the pads of her fingers down his cheeks; his jawbone. Her kisses were hesitant and timid, melting into long and meaningful, borderline heated and wanton. She was everything. Everywhere at once.

Jean dug his fingers into her hip bones, humming against her lips before he broke their kiss, snaking his hands up her sides and resting on either side of her face. Panting, Annie opened her eyes, lips still adorably puckered, and cupped her fingers around his wrists to keep him there. "I think I'm  _your_  asshole now," he pointed out with a grin, stroking her cheekbones.

The blonde smirked, dropping her forehead to rest on his, arms draping around his neck, and he slipped his around her waist. " _My_  asshole," she mirrored his tone, tilting her face to brush her lips against his.

"It sounds better when you say it," He grinned.

"Good."

Pulling back to look at her better, he gave the small of her back a few circular strokes and asked, "Are we really doing this?"

In answer, Annie caught him by surprise, fisting the front of his shirt and pushing him down on the bed, hovering just over his face. Jean yelped in the momentum, gazing up at her still as he reached up to brush her hair behind her ear. Leaning into the palm of his hand, she murmured, "Looks like it," and closed the distance between their faces to unite their lips once more.


	14. Number Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in modern au.

Jean was in a dilemma.

He used to have a big crush on Mikasa (it was ridiculous, but who could blame him? Have you  _looked_ at her?). When he finally got the guts and told her, she let him down gently. He couldn't even be mad at her. She had been so awkward and cute about it that he smiled and asked if they could still be friends. She, thankfully, said yes.

The problem?

Two years later and he had it bad for one of her friends, Annie Leonhardt. The apathetic star soccer player (number four to be exact, he's checked), who turned down every unfortunate male who had the balls to ask her out (while the rest never made eye contact with her), had somehow captured his heart and he didn't know what to do about it. The only people who knew about his feelings were his best friend, Marco, and Mikasa herself. Both giving him words of encouragement. Jean considered Annie a friend, since she actually gave him the time of day and acknowledged him whenever they saw each other. Like Mikasa, she was quiet and withdrawn, and only mingled with their inner circle. He's seen her smile and laugh and, as rare as those times were, he always felt his heart race every time.

On a rainy day, he approached Mikasa before class. He almost never got time alone with her because she was always attached to Eren and Armin by the hip. Those three have been inseparable since he met them. The raven looked pretty today, with her longer hair swept over one shoulder and red sweater standing out against the gloomy weather outside. "Hey, Mikasa."

Mikasa closed her locker, binder and book balanced on one arm, leaning against it with the other. "Hey."

"Do you think soccer practice is gonna be cancelled today?"

Her lips curved up. "I don't know. Why don't you ask her?"

Jean shifted his weight from one foot to the next, folding his arms across his chest. "'S not funny."

"It's cute."

He felt his cheeks get hot. "… _Shut up_."

"You're already friends with her. At least she likes you to an extent."

"Thanks, that makes me feel  _so_ much better."

"You'll never know how Annie feels unless you show her that she can open up to you. She's a guarded person, but…there's more to her than people think."

"Like you?"

Mikasa laughed softly. "More or less."

When was Mikasa not right? It was like she and Armin knew everything. "Where's your boyfriend?" he asked, purposely avoiding his situation.

It was her turn to blush. "Don't change the subject."

"Nah, I think you're trying to change the subject now." Jean grinned down at her. Oh he was gonna have fun with this. "Where's Yeager Bombastic anyway? You and Armin like to be glued to him 24/7 for some reason."

"Turn around,  _Horse-face_."

Speak of the asshole. Jean turned his head to face the shorter brunet, giving him a smug grin. As much as they butt heads, Jean actually considered Eren one of his closest friends.

"Eren," Mikasa said in  _that_  tone of hers, and Eren's gaze settled on hers before they softened. Damn, could they really be that  _obvious?_ "You and your parents are still coming over tonight, right?"

"Uh, yeah. We'll be there." Eren nodded, shifting and turning until he stood beside her, scratching his cheek.

"Dinner with the family, huh?" Jean raised an eyebrow. "I can hear the wedding bells already."

Before Eren could launch himself at him, Mikasa threw her arm out and advised, "We should get to class before we're late." She began to tug Eren by the sleeve of his jacket, walking around Jean, and looked over her shoulder at the latter to say, "Remember what I said."

Jean nodded. "Yeah. Right…"

.

.

.

He sat behind her in their history class three periods later; the only reason why it was his favorite was because the class was full of familiar faces. Including Annie. While their teacher droned on and on, Jean leaned forward in his seat and took his chance. Tapping her on the shoulder gently to get her attention. He noticed that she decided to wear her shoulders out today, her hoodie tied around her waist. Seeing skin other than her face and arms was like discovering an extra chicken nugget in the box. You only get to experience it so many times in your life.

The blonde leaned back, turning her head slightly to let him know that he had her attention.

"Soccer practice cancelled?" he whispered.

Annie nodded. "Yeah, why?" she whispered back.

"Eh, nothin'. Just wanted to see what you were doing after school."

"For what?"

 _Just spit out - do it - don't be an idiot -_  "Wanna hang?"

The bell rang.

Jean groaned. Great. Just fan- _fucking_ -tastic. He had  _one_  chance and he blew it. He waited 'til the last minute and he fucking blew it. Great job, Kirstein. He packed up his stuff and stood up, wanting nothing more than to get out of there.

"Hey."

He froze mid-step at the very voice that made his heart skip a beat, slowly turning his head. Annie was waiting for him, back against the lockers with her arms folded across her chest. Unreadable expression plastered across her pale face.

"Hey?" he greeted back but it sounded more like a question. Her arms fell from her bosom and she walked up to him, eyes appraising him in a way that almost made him blush again.

A beat of silence passed between them, despite the buzz of the students. It was like he had his own little personal bubble with her.

And then she spoke.

"Yes."

Jean blinked. "Yes, what?"

Annie rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'll hang out with you. I'm free after school. We can think of something to do then."

Oh.  _Oh_.

"Right."  _Don't embarrass yourself, Jean._

"Do you drive?"

Jean nodded.

She returned the gesture. "I'll see you in the parking lot."

Annie then walked away, and Jean stared after her, dumbfounded. He…he did it.  _He couldn't believe he did it_.

He just got Annie Leonhardt – a girl, who was a friend (and a  _very_  attractive one at that) – to go out with him.

U-Uh –

In a friendly way. Not the other way.

Jean found himself smiling to himself on his way to his next class. For a rainy day, things were beginning to lighten up.


	15. Often

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in modern au.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand this is the reason for the story's rating to be upped to m. The following is rated m for sexual content. Smutty jeanani goodness all the way through. Enjoy.

It's funny how the most composed person he knew could be reduced to a shaking, trembling mess under his very fingertips.

Jean realizes this as he partakes his mission, to explore every inch of her soft, toned skin. To leave not one place untouched. They've been together for a while, and this is the first time he sees her like this in... _He doesn't even remember. It's been that damn long._ Her blonde hair is unkempt, splayed out across his pillows. Pink, supple lips part as she gasps and moans softly, bruised from his kissing. It pleases him, strokes his has done this to her. Only him. Only _he_  can see her this way, make her _feel_  this way. Only  _him_.

_Oh yeah_ , he muses as he kisses his way down her belly.  _This is_ way  _better than the movie._

Annie arches herself into his hot, heated touch, already freed of her hoodie and t-shirt. She doesn't dress up much, unless they go out to a restaurant or something. Fancy shit like that. She's laidback, she doesn't give a fuck about what people think of her, and he  _loves_  that. He  _loves_ the way she glares, the way her nostrils flare in agitation at him and others. And,  _Jesus fucking Christ_ , he loves the way she moans his name. Now, there are different levels of the sound, going from a subtle _, I like that, keep going,_  to if _you don't fucking get a grip, Kirstein_  - Empty threats, really. They both know he's not one to disappoint, and if there's one thing they had in common together it's that one word.

Tease.

And boy does Annie push Jean to his limit. All the times she's fondled him under the table -  _yes, even during dinners with his mother. His mother._  Annie is no man, but she sure as hell got the balls of one - brush against him purposely as they pass each other, grind her ass into his pelvis as they dance in the club, send him nudes, that one movie night with the others and she gave him a handjob under the blanket they shared, he's finally getting his revenge.

He's enjoying it. Completely.

They start off by watching Netflix at his house. He's not planning on hooking up, but that's always an option on the agenda. She comes over, they snuggle up on the couch, and it's not even halfway through the movie when his hand is up her shirt and they're grinding against each other, nice and hard and slow, to ease the rough friction of their jeans. See, Jean doesn't want to waste any time. There are a good handful of things he wants to do to her, and half of them can't be fully accomplished on a couch. Annie's in his lap, rubbing herself against him as she kisses him, not helping his focus at all. Fingers in his hair and on his face, not being able to stay in one place for long before switching to the other. Her nipple is hard and perked up from his caresses and squeezes, mouth hot and heavy on milky skin of her throat, opposite hand grabbing at her ass cheek and squeezing hard. Breathing hard and chest heaving, he opens his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by her tongue slipping inside, and all of a sudden he forgets his own name and what he was going to say in the first place. She feels so damn good, and he wants to be inside her. He's hard for her, his desire straining, throbbing against his jeans and begging to be freed. But not yet. Not just yet. He wants to have a little fun with her first before he takes his own pleasure into consideration. Like their pointless arguments and bickering, they take their kisses just as seriously, tongues rubbing vigorously against one another, moans muffled into each other's mouths. Jean's running out of breath, and quickly, but he's also selfish, and he wants to win this fight.

Annie isn't gonna back down so easily, he _knows_.  _Yes, heh, he doesn't mind a woman who can take control_. Her pointer and middle fingers form a 'v' at the corners of his mouth as she kisses him, pressing her breasts against his chest and making it harder for him to fondle her there. He thinks he might suffocate - again, he's really not complaining - and then, finally, she lifts her head and breaks the kiss, a single strand of saliva separating them. Her beautiful blue eyes are darkened with her lust, her love for him, and he sees his desire reflected through his own as he gazes up at her. Lips puckered still.

"Bed," she commands, but it falls soft against his ears. She's just as flustered, just as out of breath as he is, and the room is suddenly a thousand times hotter. "Now."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He takes a hold of her hips and comes to a stand, picking her up as he moves and sets her down on her feet. Their fingers thread together, and he kisses her one more time - because he just has to - before making a brisk walk for his bedroom, which isn't, luckily, that far away. He's waited so long for this. All this waiting, all this teasing, and he was going to make her worthwhile.

They're barely through the door when Annie jumps him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist, and their lips fuse together in a deep, hungry passion. HIs hands immediately fly down to her firm ass, closing the door behind him with a swift kick of his foot, and blindly makes a beeline for his bed. There's teeth and tongue, gasps and moans in between, and Jean's first objective is to take that damned hoodie off. She's always in that thing. Annie's legs drop to the floor just before they hit the foot of the bed, and his hands are already pushing at the hem.

Her head doesn't make it through the first tug.

"Shit," Annie grumbles, and Jean laughs because she's so damn cute, taking more of the material in his hands before he tries again, and the removal is successful. (He could've sworn he heard a giggle somewhere in there, but doesn't question it.)

"It's probably that big-ass nose of yours," he grins, tossing her hoodie to the side.

"Shut up." There's a smile on her face as she pushes his shirt up his abs and, with his help (because she can't get the shirt over his head unless a) he's bending and/or b) she's leaning up on her tiptoes, or c) there's always a chair.), his bare chest and torso are finally in view for her to see. Annie drinks him in, and he feels his cheeks get even hotter - only she has that effect on him. Her hands are on him before he blinks, a soft caress on the pectoral here, an abdominal stroke there, and he shudders. Catching her hand before she could go further south and bending his head in a tilt to kiss her again. She releases a moan as she breathes, lips yielding up against his, and the hand he's not holding is resting against his sternum. He explores the curve of her shoulder, down her arm, and back up again until he's cupping her face. Their kisses are slower now, much more meaningful, but they soon pick up as Jean takes the reigns (or more accurately, her hips) and picks her up, pushing her back on the cool surface of his bed. They do not part, even as he crawls forward and she scoots backwards, and he settles himself on top of her. Situating himself between his legs.

Annie thrusts her hips up into his and he groans into her neck, returning the favor without relent. She whimpers in his ear, wanting more, asking for more, demanding more in the sharp path her fingernails are making as they rake down his back. It's good, it's amazing, and he doesn't want it to stop. He doesn't want her to stop. But she will have to, because tonight isn't about him. It's about her. It's always been her, from the beginning. It's her in the morning. It's her when he has a shitty day and she's the one he comes home to, it's her in the sky, it's her in the grass, it's her in the coffee he makes before he goes to class and work afterwards. It's...it's  _her_.

He's so absorbed in all that is her that he doesn't realize what she's doing until it's too late, and she's flipping him over on his back and straddling his hips just as quickly. He has to admit, the view is much better from where he lays, but she's beautiful in every angle. In every lighting. He kneads her hips with his hands, and she hums in approval, and they stare into each other's eyes for a while. One beat passes, then two, and Annie is pulling her tank top over her head.

Dear god, this woman is trying to kill him.

Her breasts, sheathed by the white lace covering them (ha, barely), are straining against the fabric. Aching to be touched. Immediate, he pushes himself up into a sitting position, taking a moment to stare openly at the perky mounds. He hasn't seen these before. Well, the bra. He's seen the round, ivory goodness underneath. Plenty of times.

"This new?" he asks, slipping a finger under the strap, pulling up on it a couple of times. Not that he's complaining (no, no, no. Not. At. All.)

"You like it?" she cups her fingers around his jawline and neck, thumbs stroking the skin there.

"Yeah. 'S nice." He leans in to press an open-mouthed kiss against her throat, pushing the strap down slowly. "But it'll look better  _on the floor,"_ he whispers huskily, and she trembles in anticipation.

Now in the present, he's back on top and making his way down her body, covering her in kisses and lovebites. He leaves her bra alone, coating what's already exposed to him in bruises before he continues. She's growing impatient with him, tugging on his hair, whimpers and growls of Jean, Jean, Jean making him smirk against her, and he's right at the inside of her thigh now.

"Stop doing that," she hisses through gritted teeth.

"Doing what?" he chuckles.  _"Teasing?_ Oh come on now."

_"Jean."_

He's positive he has a shit-eating grin on his face as he unzips her pants and pulls them down her legs, finally gaining access to her skin. He takes his time, testing her ( _clearly lack of_ ) patience even further as he slowly kisses his way up her legs until he reaches her thighs again. Annie is whimpering once more and, when he looks up at her face, he sees that her eyes are closed and she's biting her bottom lip in the very way that makes his dick twitch and strain against the fabric of his jeans. His face is right between her legs, and he can see her desire moistening, darkening the material of her panties.

He inhales deeply.

She smells  _delicious_.

He wants to  _devour_  her.

" _Annie_ ," his voice is husky still, laced with pure wanton as he hooks his fingers under, knuckles brushing against her hip bones at an agonizingly slow pace. Her response is a low whine and nothing else. It's not enough for him. "Annie," he says again, a little louder.

_"...What?"_ she breathes, her usual deadpan now several octaves higher.

"Tell me what you want," he murmurs against her, pressing an open mouthed kiss to her womb.

"I want you," she murmurs back.

"You want me to what?" He wants to give her what she wants.  _Exactly_  what she wants. And he  _knows_  what she wants - but she needs to say it before he proceeds.

"I…" she's struggling, he knows, and it's rare of her to be this timid and hesitant. He likes it. "I want you to…" Her bottom lip is pulled through her teeth as she balances her upper body weight on her elbows to meet his gaze before she finally says, "I want you to take my panties off and fuck me with your tongue."

_Damn._

"That's better," he grins a small grin and begins to tug her underwear down her legs, having her slip out one leg followed closely by the next. He slides back up and leaves kisses in his wake. As he inches closer and closer to where she wants him, and where he wants to be, he asks her,  _is this okay, is this okay_ before he advances. She does not say no.

Jean spreads her legs apart and gazes down at what awaits him, like a starving man ready to eat his first feast. He looks at her, really looks at her, how she's dripping wet for him, how she's aching for him to give her release, and uses his thumbs to part her lips in a prolonged motion. Annie gasps, the cool draft of his room hitting her most intimate of places, and she trembles again with anticipation. He peers up at her through long lashes as he draws closer and pauses.

Then, without warning, before Annie can even protest, he's running his tongue up her slit and she cries out in surprise and pleasure, head thrown back, upper body collapsing against the sheets, fingers flying down to his hair. Jean groans at the sound and closes his eyes as he properly begins to taste her, rolling his tongue around in her heat. He strokes her up and down, from side to side, one-eighty to three-sixty circular patterns and reverse. Repeat. Reverse. Repeat. He alternates from slow and seductive to fast and sloppy, and she's bucking into his mouth and she's driving him  _crazy_. With his mouth occupied by pleasuring her down south, his hands head north to grab at her breasts - which he soon finds to be very bare, and briefly wonders at what point did she took her bra off. It dawns on him that she's completely naked and under his control - and her fingers clench around his palms to keep him there.

He loves the way his name rolls off of her tongue in every moan, every pant, every scream - and God yes, she's  _screaming_  - _Jean, Jean, Jean. Yes. Fuck. Oh my God, yes. Right there. Don't stop. Don't stop. Yes, yes yes!_ \- and every one, every precious one is forever etched in his memory. She is his instrument, his instrument made for him alone to play, and he's determined to draw out all the sounds, all the music, she can make.

Jean opens his eyes and stops, caressing her with one final lick, and waits for her to open her eyes and look down in three. Two. One.

"What…" Annie is out of breath, throbbing with want and dripping with need. Gaze unfocused. "Why did you…? -  _Oh!"_

He had wet his forefingers with his tongue before plunging his digits into her heat at full force.

And his mouth had closed over her clit.

_"Fuck!"_  Annie cries, arching her back, hips moving sporadically with the pace of his fingers, back arching off of the bed. That's the spot. That's the fucking spot. She's so close. She's  _so deliciously close and she needs to come._ He pauses briefly to throw her legs over his shoulders before he continues and she nearly suffocates him, thighs compressing his head between her legs, fingers tearing through his scalp desperately. Oh yes, this is much better. This is much, much, much better.

"Mhm…" he hums around her sensitive nub, now inserting a third finger. Faster. Faster. He's going faster. She's almost there, he  _senses_  it, he  _tastes_  it. And then -

_"Jean!"_

_"Mhm."_

"I'm close...I'm  _so close_...I'm gonna -"

"You gonna do it?" Jean lifts his head to speak, fingers still moving nonstop. He wants to - no, he needs to watch this. He needs to see the magic happen.

"Yes."

"Right now?"

"Yes. Oh... _fuck…fuckfuckfuck -"_

"Annie."

"- W-What?!"

_"Come."_

And she does. Annie falls hard and fast, and Jean is there to catch her. He's never seen a sight more erotic and beautiful in his life. Her hair falls in her face as she rides it out, mouth agape as she screams, one hand tangling itself in her blonde tresses in the midst of her ecstasy. Her juices pool into his mouth and he lathers up everything she offers, and when his tongue brushes over her clit she giggles and jumps from the sensitivity.  _Too soon. Much too soon._

"Stop," she breathes as she comes down from her high. "It's still…"

"Mm…" he begins to sit up, turning his head to kiss her knee. He withdraws his fingers, coated with her love juices, and he brings them up to his mouth to taste. He is not disappointed, and he licks his fingers clean, feeling her heated gaze on him as she watches. "You... _taste so good."_

"Hm…" Annie beckons him with her finger. "Get up here and kiss me."

Jean obliges.

They kiss again, and her essence on his mouth, his breath, turns her on even further. She's tasting herself on his lips, running her tongue along his bottom lip and moaning softly, and grinding her hips against his jeans, seeking friction.

"Don't you think it's time to take these off?" Annie curls her fingers around the belt loops, lips curving upwards as they kiss.

His first initial reaction?  _Hell yeah, I've been torturing myself long enough._  It's taking all of his control to not explode right there in his pants, like a juvenile. But he plays along and strokes the dip of her hip. "I didn't come in here just to see you naked...although that's a bonus." He winks, and her pink cheeks only redden further. "Do you want 'em off?"

"I didn't come in here to just get naked," she counters back with, and he's on his back in the next second. (He's made the mistake of forgetting she's a black belt, more than once.) Seeing the bewildered look on his face, she smirks and leans close to his face.  _"My turn."_

Jean releases the shaky breath he has apparently been holding. No telling what she has in store for him. She's in control now, there's no stopping her. He has a good idea of what's coming -  _pun intended_  - and closes his eyes as her kisses begin to descend, much like he had done to her. She's rougher, nipping his skin with blunt teeth and tongue and sends jolts of pain and pleasure down Jean's spine, her pace quickening with impatience. Slender fingers unbutton him, zipping his pants down, and this time he feels the draft of his room as she yanks his pants (and boxers) down to his knees and his length springs free from its prison.

He groans.

Annie cups her hand around his shaft and he hisses, bucking into her touch before he can control himself. "You like that?" she purrs, working him with slow, experienced strokes.

Fuck, he does.  _He so fucking does._  He thinks that nothing can get better than this, that  _no_  pleasure can top this, until - once again - she proves him  _wrong_ and bends to wrap her pink lips around his tip.

He almost combusts right then, and maybe she wants him to. The little minx.

"Fu -" Jean's not the type to put his arms behind his head and watch his girl do her work like a fucking bastard. She knows how to unravel him just as  _he_ knows how to unravel  _her_ , and she takes advantage in the best of ways. Her mouth is sweet, her touch is heaven, and he's getting closer and closer to blissful oblivion. Already.  _"Jesus,"_  he groans, running his fingers through her hair.

Annie bobs her head as she sucks him off, rubbing what she can't intake with her hand. He makes the mistake of looking down at her to see where her other hand is heading, and whines when he sees her middle finger playing with her clit.  _He_  should be doing that.  _He_  should be doing that for  _her_.  _"A-Annie."_

_Annie, Annie, Annie._

She's moaning against him, fingering herself faster, faster, before she slowly engulfs as much of him as she can into her mouth.

And he is at his limit.

_"Baby,"_ he warns in a low, husky growl, feeling the familiar burn in his navel, rolling his hips feverishly into her hot touch. He's right on the edge, but her lips and hands aren't what he craves. He craves something wetter. Something  _tighter._

She runs her tongue up and down his length, peering up at him through her lidded gaze. "Hm?" his lover hums innocently.

"You better stop that," he strains, "unless you want me to come in your mouth."

_"Do it,"_  she dares, taking him in her mouth again and sucking down.  _Hard._

That does it.

Jean's head falls back on the pillows as he comes undone, her name falling from his lips like a prayer, grabbing and pulling at her hair and thrusting his length into her mouth again and again _and again_ , and she swallows his seed without complaint. He becomes a whimpering fool, closing his eyes and mouth falling open, groaning and panting, and if it isn't for his dire need to be inside her, he'd be completely worn out. Annie wipes her mouth with her thumb, darting her tongue out to taste and moans throatily in approval before getting rid of his pants and boxers altogether, crawling back up his body to kiss him. He's whiny and needy, and weakened from his release, but he kisses her back and tastes himself on her tongue. It's strange, but he likes it.

His length is pressed against her thigh as they continue to kiss and gently fondle each other, and it doesn't take long for her to notice.

"You're still..?" Annie looks down at his hard-on before back up at him, closing her eyes as he swoops in to steal a kiss. Two. Three.  _(He can't help it.)_

"You didn't think I'd go down so soon, did you?" he dips his head to kiss on her neck, thumb stroking her breast. She gasps and arches into him, clinging to his strong shoulders.

"I want you…" she moans in his ear, rolling her hips into his. "God, I want you…"

He doesn't make her wait any longer. He doesn't make himself wait any longer. Jean gives her a lingering kiss before he leans back to grab a condom from the bedside table and slip it on; he then coaxes her to roll over on her side with her back facing him. She parts her legs for him and he lets a hand run down the length of her leg and stops at her thigh. He cups her there and lifts her leg up, moving himself in to enter her. Annie takes him in her hand to guide him until he's right where he needs to be, and he's inside her in one swift thrust.

Jean and Annie moan together in harmony.

_Finally._

She's tight and warm and wet, and he loves it. He  _loves_  how he can make her this way. He  _loves_  how she clenches around him like a glove. He  _loves_ how she whimpers his name and leans her head back against his shoulder as he ruts into her. He's _slow_  and  _sensual_ and _takes his time_ , peppering hot kisses all over her neck and shoulders. She mewls, reaching a hand back to run her fingers through his hair, bucking her ass back into him.

This is worth the wait.  _So fucking worth it._

_"Harder,"_  she demands, and he obeys, pounding into her with more force.  _In, out. In, out. In, out._  His hand lifts her leg a little higher, and her moans rise in pitch.  _"S-Shit…"_

"You like that?" he echoes her, the very words that shook him to his core when she spoke them. She whimpers in reply, but that's not good enough. He drags his teeth along the shell of her ear. "Huh?" He replaces his teeth with his tongue.

Annie shudders. "Yes," she gasps out.  _"Yes!"_

_God_ , he loves her.

His kisses are hot and heavy on her skin, hand leaving her thigh so he could smooth his hand down her body until he reaches her clit, working her up even further with his finger. She arches into him with a shout, hand clamping down on his wrist to keep him from moving away. Their altered position, however, makes it more difficult for him to remain inside her comfortably, but he thinks of an idea; and he begins to slow down until he stops altogether, pulling out of her with reluctance. Annie rolls over to look at him, gaze darkened with desire and impatience, eyes screaming,  _Why? Why did you stop?_

Jean is quiet as he sits up, slipping his arms around her and pulling her into his lap with swift eagerness. It finally dawns on her, he can see it in her eyes, and she straddles his waist without question; standing on her knees and gripping his shoulders. He grasps her hip with one hand, using his free one to position himself at her entrance.

Annie sinks down on his length, and he tilts his head back, eyes fluttering closed and mouth curving into a grin. They resume their intimate dance, he thrusting up, she thrusting down, his hands dragging along her hips, her ass cheeks, everywhere he can reach. She digs her fingers into his chest, crying out as he hits that spot over and over  _and over_ again, his lips on her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. The mantra begins again. _Jean, Jean, Jean._

There goes the familiar burn again. "Fuck…"

_"J-Jean…"_ her voice shakes with every thrust, breath hitching. "I'm -"

"I know. Me too." He groans against her neck, hands tight on her hips as she bounces even faster on his dick. He wants to look at her as he comes. He wants to look at her as _she_  comes. He wants to be with her as she releases. Jean abruptly falls back with her on top, flipping her over on her back just as quickly, and is now rutting into her  _hard_  and  _deep_ and _fast_. He parts her legs and uses the inside of her thighs to balance himself above her, driving himself closer and closer to the edge's tip. Annie's sobbing, breasts bouncing, skin coated in sweat, cheeks putting roses to shame; her head lolls to the side, eyes shut tight, arms bent back on either side of her head. He's doing most of the work now. He's in control.

Using his hand to coax her to tilt her chin up, he groans out, _"Look at me."_

She does, eyes flying open to meet his intense gaze.

_He's gonna come, he's gonna come, he's gonna come._

And she's gonna come with him.

Her skin is red from where their bodies continue to meet, deliciously smacking together, and he can't hold it any longer. His finger moves up to rub furiously at her clit, and she  _screams_ , arms flying around him as she falls over the edge, toes curling, and he's right behind her. Jean comes hard, his muscles tensing and coiling, cries out the name of the woman he loves, and his eyes never leave hers as he rides it out.

Annie sighs highly as he begins to slow, cupping his face and pulling him down for a sloppy, wet kiss. Jean returns the affection, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and she coos, brushing his long bangs out of his face with her fingertips.

"I love you," he whispers, raining soft kisses around her mouth and chin; her nose.

"I love you too," she breathes back, and his heart still skips a beat when she says it; he kisses her lips before he withdraws from her and gets off of her to throw the used condom away. Embarrassingly, he's weak at the knees as he wobbles out of bed and hears her soft laughter as he disappears into the bathroom. When he comes back, she's already under the sheets, curled into an adorable little ball.

"You cold?" He slips back into bed with her, arms wrapping around her and pulling her close to him.

"Not anymore." She relaxes in his arms, resting her head against his chest, and he kisses the crown of her hair.

"Wanna finish watching the movie or…" Long, warm fingers lightly trace the skin of her waist, stopping at the dip that leads him further south. "- do something else?"

Annie smirks, twining her arms around his neck and pulling herself up to his eye-level. He's loving the mischievous, seductive look in those icy blue depths, and he feels himself getting excited for the third time that night. "Movies are the _last_  thing on my mind."

_Yeah._ His lips descend on hers, and before he knows it he's pulling the beautiful, naked woman back on top of him.  _Much, much better than the movie._


	16. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in modern au, written by Lindsay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now the story is up to date! Whoo! This one has pretty suggestive content. Happy reading.

She smells of sex and cheap perfume on her pulse. Grey goose on the floor, bottle kissed by her crimson lipstick, last night's heels and clothes tossed aside haphazardly. The place is unruly and she likes it that way.

Annie Leonhardt rises from her bed and takes her first drag of the day.

A flick of her thumb and the flame dances upon her lighter, deep breath in and out as the smoke billows from thin, chapped lips. The apartment reeks of expensive cologne and marijuana- the tobacco does nothing to mask it. She coughs, spine recoiling dramatically with the convulsion of her muscles, heaving and rasping until the next drag is taken.

Hardly effective.

The lights of the city have yet to unfold as dawn breaks the horizon. It's beautifully tragic the way the sky paints hues of amber and gold outside the foggy glass of her window. Her breath condenses and delicate fingertips graze the panes, admiring the world with both disgust and wonder. Contradictory for just one young woman seemingly lost amongst the bustle of the city.

Annie slips on her corset, ties it tight against her abdomen and laces it three times over. One, two, three, another drag, another cough, another day of work and routine. She views it as business, not anything more or less. She gets paid and she keeps living. The world is bleak and lifeless. Winter brings death to those on the streets. The leaves have fallen and Annie fears that someday, so will she.

She did well last night. An additional client to come home and pay her extra. Made it out well, twenties and fifties stuffed within the hem of her panties, just enough for rent, food, and what-have-you. Still, Annie remains apathetic and gets on with the job.

Crimson lipstick is applied to pursed lips. Mascara next, then wings on her venous lids, a bit of concealer to mask the few blemishes that rest upon her porcelain features. A quick gander into the mirror and Annie Leonhardt can never recognize the woman she has become- she is not her other persona and never will be. Simply an object of sex and affection to win the money she deserves. Annie doesn't like it, but it pays. Keeps her alive, keeps her warm, keeps her fed, and will continue to do so.

She tilts the remainder of the Grey Goose into her mouth, taps the bottom to empty the last few sacred drops onto her tongue. Salvation in the form of the bottle, it raps against her skull that already pounds from last night's fix.

Her heels are next; she's gotten damn good at walking in them. Blisters and scars can't pull her down any more. They're crimson red and studded with rhinestones, six inches high and counting. She feels powerful, as if she could crush GODS beneath her feet.

Annie steps out into the brisk December air, grey hoodie pulled over skimpy lingerie; she is used to the pairs of eyes that follow her now. Constantly poking and prodding as if she hasn't been torn apart enough- Annie Leonhardt is but a shadow now, and all that remains is Crystal.

Winter winds nip at her pale cheeks and she waits for the bus to carry her to work where she will remain for the rest of the night. She sighs and lights another cigarette, dangling from her index and middle finger as she slowly exhales. Lids fall and she nearly collapses from fatigue. The world spins and Annie Leonhardt wishes to be swept in its wake.

"Where are you off to, miss?"

"The club on High Street."

"The strip club?"

"Precisely."

She's icily cold and silent thereafter, dismissive in the way in which she addresses others, just a cold stare and no other words spoken. There is simply nothing to say. No smoking on the bus, but the driver knows her well enough by now. Still he continues to prod her as to where she is going, as if he somehow expects an alternate answer.

There never is.

Annie has sworn she has seen him at the club a couple times. Flung twenties and fifties at her to pay back months and months of public transportation. A heavy, sluggish man, but one who gives her what she desires; money, more money, and then some. One swing of her hips and he's mesmerized. It's always that way.

"Here you are, ma'am."

"Don't call me that."

She hops off the bus, hands stuffed in the pockets of her worn hoodie, meandering towards the back of the club where employees are told to enter. She discards the sweatshirt as soon as she is greeted by the heat inside the building, flinging it to the side and taking her place amongst the other dancers beside her.

"Crystal!"

"We thought you were gonna skip out."

"Looks like we got quite a lotta company tonight! We should do sooo well."

Annie's eyes widen with interest at the mention of cash and money. Anything to fill her greedy little fingers and she'll go to extremes to achieve it. She's always been the club favorite, by customers and manager alike, the petite muscular blonde with all of the allure and seduction to keep the money flowing and the regulars coming back.

She's sure the other girls are envious. Annie doesn't strive for envy, just success. It's fight or survive, and she must come out on top. Rake in the cash, leave others in the dust. Since when has she been anything other than selfish?

Her fingers part the velvet curtains that separate the back of the club from the main stage and she is greeted by the touch of a man. Typically it disgusts her when someone feels so entitled to touch her, but this isn't a touch of greed or lust, it's to get her attention and for that purpose only. Annie remembers her duty: make the most money, give this idiot the attention he wants and get on with it already.

"Babe… you work here?"

"Well, I don't know, genius. What does it look like?"

She gestures to the lingerie that adorns her willowy frame.

He chuckles and grazes the back of his neck, cheeks reddening with humiliation. He's cute and attractive; a rarity compared to some of the gross men who make the rounds of the club for the most part. Annie eyes him closely and expectantly.

"Of course ya do. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Name's Crystal 'round here. Don't call me sweetheart again."

She tears his grasp from her wrist effortlessly. He seems astounded at her strength. If he expected anything less from a stripper who knew well enough how to work the pole, he was dead wrong.

"Damn, girl. Alright, alright, you got it. You're hot as hell. So, you gonna dance up there for me?"

He flashes a hundred dollar bill and her pupils nearly double in .size. Yes, yes, that's how to speak to me. Show me the dough and I'll be gone with you.

It certainly doesn't take away from the factor that he's absolutely handsome. He's toned and he's a charmer, heavy accent and honey brown hair, grin of a champion and just as charming. Annie figures she'll give him the time of day, and she obliges and struts onto the stage.

He is watching her with fascination and pure LUST.

Annie won't disappoint.

She swings her tiny frame around the pole with ease and grace, muscles rippling as she hoists herself upon it and swings open her legs. This is routine, routine, routine, so why does she feel so pressured to impress? She never has to try too hard, for she steps forward close enough for him to touch her and nearly straddles him, grasping his chin and nearly pulling him on the stage beside her. He's wild for her, mesmerized, tossing bills from his wallet furiously to land by her heeled feet. His hands are on her waist next, touching and caressing her sides as she continues to swing her hips, dancing and contorting her body to whatever shape he can possibly fantasize. She is his instrument and he is not only under her control but she under his. The music blares, drowning out the two of them and she swears she wants to hear him cry her name.

Crimson nails dig into the flesh of his face and leave behind the marks of crescent moons, long and piercing and ruthless.

Annie Leonhardt has never gotten this close to a client.

She is breathless and covered in the beads of her own sweat by the time her dance is over, and he is left groveling by her feet with an empty wallet. Green bills poke out from the strings of her thong. If they were not in public, she would have assumed he'd pull them clean off.

"Looks like that was a little more than a hundred, handsome."

He's brought to his knees and without an adequate response.

"You're amazing, girl."

"There are always private dances, if you're interested."

She pulls him into a rough kiss, hard and passionate and without warning, gnawing the bottom of his lip before pulling away. It draws blood that runs down the side of his face and dribbles down his chin. He grabs her back before she can possibly escape.

"Don't leave me hangin', girl."

"Crystal," she corrects.

"Crystal- whateva the hell they call you. I don't have any cash left."

He's embarrassed and she just BEAMS with pride and satisfaction.

"Don't think I caught your name, hmm?"

"J-Jean."

He stammers and she laughs wickedly. Oh, does she love to see men brought to their knees by a powerful woman. No matter, she tears a piece of paper from the bar menu and quickly scrawls a few things. Name, number, address- written to Jean at the top with a heart. Hardly the romantic type, but Annie still loves the game that love engenders.

"Here you are. Call me, then?"

He looks like a child on Christmas.

"You're actually serious? Damn girl, I will. Ya name isn't Crystal, no? Annie?"

She nods and gives a roll of her eyes. Crystal is her stage name and, subsequently, the woman she has become.

Perhaps she wants Jean to know the woman behind Crystal.

"That's right. Nice detective work," she snorts. Icily sardonic and without a beat to miss.

"I like the name Annie. S'nice, y'know?"

"Save the flattery for another day."

And she's POSITIVE he will.


	17. The More You Have to Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they go to sleep, he dreams. He dreams of better times, he dreams of holding her in his arms and time stands still, he dreams of another life where she's not wanted by the MPs, he dreams of finally being at peace, just with her. No more fighting, no more death, no more destruction. Just Jean and Annie. Annie and Jean. Annie's safety, Annie smiling that dimple smile, Annie's soft angelic laughter, Annie moaning and writhing underneath him, Annie crying out his name in ecstasy, a baby's cry, bright white lights, a beautiful lace veil...only to be replaced with dead bodies and screams of fear. The wedding chapel is in ruins. Their baby, his son, is nowhere to be found. Annie's tear-stricken cheeks and wide eyes, arms and hands stained with blood that he knows is hers, a hole blown straight through her chest. Large, monstrous hands grab her and he's too slow. He cannot reach her. He's forced to watch the love of his life be eaten in front of his very eyes. Flash. The scene changes and he's looking at her corpse, laying right next to - M-Marco?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Awesome that you are doing prompts! I see you already have a lot, so if you could do a quick jeanani fic where they comfort each other over Mina and Marco's death I would love it! - request by pan-demicfreak via Tumblr.
> 
> This request is a month old, I'm so sorry...Honestly, I can't believe I've gone so long without updating this. Lindsay and I have really just been busy with real life shit. School, work, personal stuff, lack of muse, all that good stuff. I've been practicing more with writing in the present tense, so for the rest of the series we'll be maintaining consistency. Anyway, what's up guys? Ya still with us? :D

His fingertips make a path as they trek up and down her arm in long, absentminded strokes. He's calm and content on the outside, but his heart aches, and the only reason why the tears on his cheeks have dried up is because she's running her fingers through his hair, letting him use her soft bosom as a cushion. She calms him, numbs the painful ache in his chest, even just for a little while.

Jean closes his eyes. "I really thought I could handle this."

Annie brushes her lips against the crown of his head. "You can't. There's no way to  _handle_  it. You just deal. Fact of the matter is, death is inevitable." Her hand cups the back of his head. "And there's nothing we can do to stop it."

Jean frowns. He knows she's right, but he can't help missing his best friend. He can't help but feel depressed when he wakes up in the morning knowing that Marco's bright smile isn't there to greet him before they'd go down to breakfast together. He misses everything about him. His voice, his smile, his laughter...Marco was the first person besides his mother that ever gave a shit about him and this merciless fucking world took his brother away from him.

"Do you miss her?"

The stroking comes to a halt, for just a beat, before it continues. "Yes."

Mina. Mina Carolina. He's never paid attention before, but from what he's learned, Mina was the same person to Annie that Marco was to him. The first person to befriend them, the first person to be genuinely nice to them, the first person to give a shit about them, the first person to leave them behind because those big-ass bastards got hungry.

_The more you care, the more you have to lose._

He's learned that the hard way.

When they go to sleep, he dreams. He dreams of better times, he dreams of holding her in his arms and time stands still, he dreams of another life where she's not wanted by the MPs, he dreams of finally being at peace, just with her. No more fighting, no more death, no more destruction. Just Jean and Annie. Annie and Jean. Annie's safety, Annie smiling that dimple smile, Annie's soft angelic laughter, Annie moaning and writhing underneath him, Annie crying out his name in ecstasy, a baby's cry, bright white lights, a beautiful lace veil...only to be replaced with dead bodies and screams of fear. The wedding chapel is in ruins. Their baby, his son, is nowhere to be found. Annie's tear-stricken cheeks and wide eyes, arms and hands stained with blood that he knows is hers, a hole blown straight through her chest. Large, monstrous hands grab her and he's too slow. He cannot reach her. He's forced to watch the love of his life be eaten in front of his very eyes. Flash. The scene changes and he's looking at her corpse, laying right next to -  _M-Marco?_

 _You let us die, Jean._  The corpses of his loved ones made eye contact with them, half of their faces mangled, body parts missing.  _Why did you let us die? You could've saved us. It's all your fault._

_It's. All. Your. FAULT!_

He wakes with a start, sitting up straight and breathing heavily, as if his nightmare had been a reality. Cold sweat dews on his skin, covering him in a clammy sheen of anxiety and fear.  _God_ , he hates this. He  _hates_  feeling so guilty for not being there that dreadful day. He hates  _himself_  for not saving the one person who actually gave a shit about him. And now he's gone. Forever.

A small, slender hand, cool to the touch and almost freezing against his hot skin, wraps around his arm, followed by a soft and groggy, "You okay?"

No. Jean is not okay. He will never really  _be_ okay ever again. But he isn't going to tell Annie that. Her voice and her touch alone begins to soothe him yet again, dulls the ache of his beating heart, and for a fleeting moment he's able to relax under her very presence. She is there.  _Annie is still here. He's not alone. Not really_. The bed shifts on her side of the bed before he can even respond to her and before he knows it, her other hand is on his bare back; fingers gently trekking over his broad shoulders, his collarbone. Kneading his tense muscles with her palm. He inhales deeply, exhaled silently.

"Another nightmare?" A soft kiss is pressed against his pulse.

Jean nods mutely.  _Damn it...a baby? Marrying Annie? What was that about?_ Meeting her gaze will be the worst, because as soon as their eyes would meet she'd be able to see right through him. But he can't avoid her. She knows him better than he knows himself.

So instead he turns his head and cups her neck, lips meeting hers in the next moment. Her lips yield against his in turn (always slightly chapped these days, but hey, when you're a wanted fugitive you don't exactly have time for lookin' pretty), and he ends the kiss soon after - with reluctance - leaning his forehead against hers.

"Have I told you I loved you today?" he mumbles, stroking her jawline with his thumb.

"No." She cups her hand over his. "Jean, you're shaking."

 _Well maybe hot sex, you being the mother of my son, and getting married only for you to get killed and gang up on me with Marco like you're zombies or some shit isn't exactly a good combo_. "'M fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I just - can we -? c'mere." He slips his arms around her and pulls her in his lap. She doesn't protest and curls into him, stifling a yawn behind her fist; her body was warm, a constant heater given her power as a titan shifter. "I love you," he tells her in earnest, brushing his lips against her shoulder. Because he feels like this nightmare might be his future. That maybe he's been fucked from the start. That maybe he was supposed to fall for the one girl he wasn't supposed to fall for, knock her up, marry her, only for her to get killed. He will not have a happy ending.  _No one_  will  _ever_ have a happy ending until those damn titans were gone for good. ...But that's asking for too much.

She kisses the crown of his head again, tender and lingering. "I love you," she echoes, her voice muffled against his scalp.

And he believes her.


	18. Christmas Potato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She feels shitty. Her wrists are red and raw from the ropes digging into her skin. She's cold and clammy and hot and sweaty all at the same time. She doesn't know where she is exactly, but it's underground and well, she's been there for days. Weeks, maybe. She's stopped counting a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a poll earlier in the week asking what everyone wants to see updated soon, and this fic won! I was actually genuinely shocked at how many people wanted to see more of this series. Maybe because the amount of people who voted for it compared to the lack of people reviewing doesn't really add up, but hey. I keep up with the stats. Thanks to all of you who are still reading this in the first place!
> 
> I...have no idea what this is. It was originally gonna be something modern and cute with maybe Eremika and/or Arukuri on the side, but this happened and flowed better instead. Please leave a review and tell us your thoughts if you liked it. Feedback means the world to us. Happy holidays!

She feels shitty. Her wrists are red and raw from the ropes digging into her skin. She's cold and clammy and hot and sweaty all at the same time. She doesn't know where she is exactly, but it's underground and well, she's been there for days. Weeks, maybe. She's stopped counting a long time ago. As an enemy of the human race, she's treated like an animal. They only feed her once a day, give her water twice a day. She'd much rather be back inside her crystal prison. At least she had been safe there. At least when she was frozen she wasn't a failure.

Damn it, why don't they just kill her already? What are they waiting for? The reason why the Military Police don't have her head on a stick right now is because the Scouting Legion wants her too. For what reason, she's at a loss. Armin tells her that this is only temporary, that her trial is coming soon and she'll be out of this cell before she knows it.

Armin visits her as much as possible. He catches her up on everything she's missed, what's changed in her absence, what the others are up to and their current whereabouts. He's taller, guarded, and stands with more confidence than she has ever seen him. The light in his eyes is long gone, but the warmth remains. He's seen hell. He's done things that the scrawny, fifteen-year-old Armin Arlert would never dream himself of doing. And, despite that...She's beginning to look forward to his visits, as much as she wants to deny it. Even after all this time, he's still gentle and patient with her. Despite everything she's done. Despite everything _he's_  done.

Sometimes he brings the others. Eren. Connie. Jean. Sasha sneaks extra food for Annie, which the latter eats. But why? Why would she do that? Annie will never know.

Mikasa hasn't visited. Once.

( Annie doesn't care. )

"Do they ever untie you from that chair?"

It's Jean who visits her today. Tonight. Whatever.

She opens her eyes groggily, stifling a groan as she lifts her head to meet his gaze across the room. He stands in a casual manner, leaning against the wall with one foot tucked behind the other, arms folded across his broad chest.

She squints. "What are you..?" the blonde rasps.

"Sasha brought you a present." Jean stands up straight from his lean and reaches her in four long strides. He digs into his trench coat and pulls out a fresh potato. Annie's mouth begins to water before she could help herself. Sasha may talk her to death, but she has a good heart. Annie almost longs for that. "Merry Christmas."

Is it really Christmas already? She stares at the hot beverage, then back up at him. Up close, she can see the snow in his hair; the rosy tint in his cheeks from the cold. How pink and smooth his lips look, and how she's wondering how they would feel pressed up against her chapped ones and - _no. Stop._  "How do you expect me to eat that?" Good lord, she hates the sound of her voice right now. She sounds like a fucking frog.

He kneels down in front of her and holds the potato out pointedly, his dark eyebrows arching.

Annie makes a face, but when he inches the potato closer to her mouth she leans forward and takes a tentative bite. She doesn't realize how apparent her hunger is until she swallows the fresh substance and before she knows it she's leaning in for another bite. Two. Three. Four. And Jean is feeding it to her.  _Jean_.

"What, did Armin bargain," she licks her lips, "to get you here?"

"Armin doesn't know I'm here."

This throws her off. "Really?"

"What I do is no one's business unless I make it their business." Jean wipes the crumbs off her mouth absentmindedly. "'Sides, he's too busy kissing the queen's ass. Quite literally if you ask me."

It takes her a minute. "Christ - Historia?"

He nods. "Historia." He eyes her for a moment. "Disappointed?"

She's quiet for a beat. "No." She then adds, "He's never mentioned her. In that way, at least."

"You're not the only one who loves keeping secrets."

Her lips press in a thin line. "I see." He lets her finish the rest of the potato in silence, but she is the one to break it. "Why are you doing this? All of you?"

"Well, let's say the Scouting Legion wants to keep the MP's from dissecting you like a frog."

Annie is tempted to snort. "And that crazy, bespectacled bitch doesn't?"

Jean laughs. "Hangi? Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. She's insane, but intelligent as hell. Now don't get me wrong, Levi's probably the one you should be worried about. He won't hesitate to kill you if you stepped out of line."

"I think that ship sailed a long time ago."

"And who's fault is that?"

"I didn't _ask_  for this, Jean. I just...I just want to go  _home._ "

"Hate to disappoint you, but it'll be a long time before that'll happen. If this trial goes in your favor, you'll have to become one of us. Uniform and all."

"I'd rather die."

"Death would be too kind."

"Death would be better than this."

"So you're giving up? You're gonna let the MP's do whatever the hell they want with you? It ain't gonna be pretty, I'll tell you that. Annie...you may not trust us, but you sure as hell are gonna have to put up with us. We got your back. No matter how many of us don't like it."

A bittersweet feeling made Annie's heart twist. Nostalgia washes through her and she remembers. The joyous laughter of her fellow cadets, Mina's smile, Eren and Jean's bickers at dinner, Sasha and Connie's pranks, Shadis' barks, avoiding hand-to-hand combat practice because she  _didn't need it..._

_Stormy grey hues. Cold and empty. No remorse._

_"It's over, Annie. Now **fall**."_

Annie grits her teeth.

"And what about  _her?" Why isn't she the one coming here? Why isn't she the one taking her anger out on me? Why isn't she the one siding with the MP's and wanting me dead? I know she does. She wants me dead more than anybody else._

Jean's gaze sobers up, and he finally comes to a stand. Hands slowly balling up into fists until his knuckles turn white. For the first time, his expression is completely unreadable and it's impossible for her to get a read on him.

"Don't worry about her," he tells her. And it's not a suggestion.

It's a command.


	19. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie's been avoiding Jean, and he wants to know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's been a while, hasn't it? I've been doing memes on Tumblr, and, since this one got much longer than intended, I decided to share it here! I answered an ask last night about why you should ship Jeanani, and the post now has 40+ notes! Amazing!
> 
> This was requested by lightningstrikestheworld.

She had been suddenly distancing herself from him for the past week and a half, and he wants to know why. No one is supposed to know about them -- hell, Jean doesn’t even know what to call it, but it’s private. Intimate. Special. He agreed to never utter a word to the others.

He didn’t realize how much he was accustomed to meeting her gaze from across the room during breakfast, lunch, and dinner, knowing that they’ll find time to be together; holding her in dim hallways and talking in hushed tones; going for walks late in the night when they really should be going to bed; kissing her when no one’s watching; and just being with her until all of that was ripped away from him.

Now she refuses to even be within feet of him.

And he wants to know why.

He catches her -- _finally_ \-- in the library one day. She’s trying to reach a book on a high shelf and can’t, so she somehow managed to stand on the very edge of the shelf below it, the heels of her feet propped up in the air as she continues to strain on her tiptoes. He almost forgot how _small_ Annie was. She’s one of the strongest, and most agile, of their class, yet she can’t access the book she wants because it’s too damn high and out of her reach.

And that alone is the most adorable thing --

\-- until she slips up a little and misses her footing, and her body begins to tumble backwards.

Jean rushes forward.

Annie closes her eyes, bracing herself for impact, when a pair of strong, familiar arms cushion her fall, catching her before she hit the ground. She could have saved herself, yes, but she wasn’t expecting a savior to come in and sweep her off her feet. Literally.

“You okay?”

Her stomach drops to her feet.

“Jean…”

He lets her down gently, and automatically misses the warmth that is radiating from her body. He missed the way she smelt, the way her head fit perfectly on his collarbone, and again it was gone before he could relish in it.

“That’s the most you’ve spoken to me in almost two weeks,” he says with a bitter laugh. He doesn’t know what he’s done to screw -- whatever this was -- up, but he supposes he might as well leave before he makes it worse.

His heart aches for her.

“Here,” he continues with, not exactly meeting her gaze as he effortlessly reaches up and grabs the very book she was trying to get in the first place, handing it over to her without bothering to look at the title. When their fingers brush during the exchange -- literally _the most cliche thing that’s ever happened_ between them -- there’s electricity and sparks and warmth and longing, and then the spell breaks. He’s off of cloud nine, back in this miserable life, and he’s lingering longer than he should.

“...Thanks.” She doesn’t look at him either.

_Just go, Jean. She obviously doesn’t want you._

He grunts in reply and turns on the heel of his boot, now ready to make his leave.

“Jean, wait.”

And then his hand is in her grasp. Her warm, sweet grasp. The tension in his shoulders relax instantaneously, and he finds himself walking back those two steps and turning around to look down at her in awe. Like the lovesick puppy he is. (God, he’s so pathetic.)

Their fingers begin to intertwine, rejoicing in reunion, and when their eyes meet, her gaze is apologetic. Sincere.

“I miss you,” she breathes, so softly that if Jean had breathed in that moment he would’ve missed it. But he didn’t.

“Who’s fault is that?” he teases in jest, but the question behind it is real. Please don’t tell him that he’s been having all of this anxiety for nothing. Please have a legit reason for confusing the hell out of him. Please put him out of his misery, Annie.

She gives him a dark look, but it does not last, and she takes his other hand with her free hand to interlock their fingers. Her actions only bring him closer to her, and Annie’s head is tilted even further up to maintain eye contact with him.

“I’ve just been having a lot on my mind.”

“You could’ve just told me that instead of leaving me hanging.” He’s not angry with her, his voice harbors no hostility. But he’s hurt. He’s still hurt. “A note would have been nice.”

“It would’ve been too risky.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean? Our lives are just one big risk. What are you talking about?”

“I wish I can explain. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“I can’t.”

“But, Annie --”

She interrupts him with a kiss, leaning up on her tiptoes again, but this time she seeks what she is looking for. The book that had been formerly tucked under her arm is long forgotten and resting on the shelf behind her, right in her reach, but her focus now is on the fair haired teen who cares about her too much.

And the sad part is, she cares about him too. More than she should. He’s going to hate her one day, and she dreads it.

Jean drops her hands, his cupping her neck, and she clings to the front of his vest, wishing that she was just a normal soldier with normal day-to-day problems. That she can kiss Jean in front of the others and call him her boyfriend, that she can sit with him during meals because she wants nothing more than to be by his side, that she can pick him to be her training partner during drills, that she can hold his hand for warm and comfort and just the simple gesture that is affection without the ever looming guilt that gnaws at her skin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers against his lips. For so many reasons. But she can never tell him. It hurts. It hurts too much.

Against her better judgement, because she _knows_ she’s not supposed to be involved with him, because she _knows_ that the more she falls for him the worse it’ll end for them both, her arms twine around his neck and her fingers play with the little hairs there and she remains close to him.

Jean sighs and leans his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. “I missed you,” he murmurs.

Her smile is halfhearted. Sad. “I know. We should…make up for lost time.”

His eyes open. Hazel gazing into pale blue. “What are you thinking?”

She hums in thought.

“Meet me behind the girls’ barracks. Tonight. After dinner.”

He smiles. Jean smiles and it’s so contagious that hers widens and her heart flutters and the guilt twists her stomach into painful knots.

“Tonight,” he echoes, and kisses her forehead. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he never does, and he walks away leaving her in suspicion and anticipation.

“Tonight,” she whispers.


End file.
